Purple Haze

Purple Haze

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Purple Haze By

Billie Williams

ADVANCED READER COPY: DISCLAIMER This Advance Reader Copy is the property of Billie Williams. The Advance Reader Copy may not be sold, rented, loaned, or copied. This is an uncorrected copy and may differ slightly from the final published novel, which will be available from Triskelion Publishing in June 2005 This work is copyrighted as of June 2005 by Billie Williams.

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Chapter One

Elinore Muich tugged at the dress so it rested just at the top of her long legged thighs. She looked in the mirror. Her legs were definitely her best feature. Too bad she could only wear black and white at work. Purity and evil—all and nothing—that’s what the colors meant to her, but she felt she commanded more attention in the male dominated advertising world with the stark contrast of colors in the black and white she chose to wear. But that was another place and time as Lavender Paige knew, purple was everything else. Privately, the color purple was her favorite color, and it went so well with her skin tone. The color also accentuated her ivory complexion. She put in near violet colored contact lenses, admiring her reflection. Purple definitely is my color, she thought. She slipped the heavy, grey wool coat off its hanger and out of the closet. Placing a wide brimmed hat over the wig, she slid her feet into the tall boots. She dropped the purple stiletto heeled boots into her carry bag. The hat was large enough to conceal her features as again she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror, tucking the blonde wig under the hat. Dark glasses further disguised her. As she turned off the light, she checked to be sure she hadn’t left anything in disarray. ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ Her maiden aunt had badgered her relentlessly with that phrase. She left the suite satisfied her aunt would be proud. She chuckled to herself. “Oh the games we play,” she said once she was alone in the elevator. The old brown Pontiac groaned as it started. It had been a week since she had taken the car anywhere. Reliable, she thought. She liked reliable, not like most men. Most men think with their anatomy. She had her own way of getting even for their vulgarity. She flicked the black widow spider hanging from her rearview mirror. She loved to watch the black crystals as they caught the light and reflected it in splotches all over the beige interior of the sedan. She loved spiders, especially the black widow. What a talented and shrewd woman. She knew exactly how life should be lived. Lavender threw her head back and laughed. “Yes, the black widow is a delightfully brilliant lady.”

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The fluff of new snow blew off the car as she got up to speed on the freeway turning the car into a cloud of white as it kicked up the un-traveled fluff of snow and shed its own cocoon of white. Not much traffic tonight. Just as well, she thought. Pickings would be better that way. Lavender parked the car on the side street near Main. She slid off the grey coat and widebrimmed hat, pulled on the short orchid fur jacket, the purple stiletto heels she retrieved from her bag and flounced her blonde wig. Checking her makeup in the mirror, she tucked her purse under the seat before she retrieved a small gold bag with the gold chain out of the glove compartment. She checked the rearview mirror, the street up and down, smiling at the lack of traffic. She slipped out of the car and locked the door. As she stretched her long lanky legs into a hooker stride she rounded the corner of the main drag and saw the regulars were already at work. They nodded to her as she headed for her corner, at least the corner that had been hers since Delilah was arrested; the poor dear. I wonder who could have told the cops about the forged check she gave the agency that rented her the rooms? She chuckled under her breath. You have to get close to people in order to use their ignorance; some are so easy to use. The code of ethics between the ‘girls’ was strong and strictly respected. Violators were given one warning. Lavender had seen the results of someone infringing on another girl’s spot and it wasn’t pretty. It took Kat three weeks in the hospital to recuperate from her mistake and she never returned to Main Street. She had heard through the grapevine that she worked Z Street now. A long silver Cadillac slowed as it drove by. The driver examined the merchandise like a boy inspecting goodies in a candy store. So much to choose from he couldn’t seem to makeup his lusty mind. The twins strutted out to the curb. He stopped; they leaned in to the car. Quickly backing away they returned to their spot shaking their heads ‘no’ to the group, meaning this was one nasty dude; no one should service him. Here was a nasty who needed a lesson. Lavender knew exactly who he was. Everyone got the message as the twins words of warning were passed down the street. No one would take his offer now, no one but Lavender that is.

*****

The patrol officer rounded the block again. The silver Cadillac was still there, illegally parked. Maybe the rich figure they are immune to city regulations, but not on his beat. The car had been there the better part of his shift and it was time he took charge. He would ticket it and call the wrecker to tow it to impound. The officer pulled up behind the Caddy, gave dispatch his location and activity status

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before he walked to the car. It wouldn’t do to be out of your car and alone in this neighborhood without alerting dispatch first. He wasn’t prepared to see a body; a naked man, his face contorted like a fun house mask, lying on the front seat of the Cadillac. He hit the button of the radio on his shoulder. “We got us another stiff—dead male at 82 W First Avenue,” he said in short, matter-of-fact sentences. “Better send homicide and forensics, as well as the coroner.” He let go of the button. He didn’t trust himself to describe the gruesome scene over the radio. To preserve his calm he began to make notes about the scene he had observed on arrival: things like license plate number, kind of car, weather conditions, place and time—anything that the chief might ask him later about the site. He didn’t dare touch anything. He’d let the detectives handle that. He could tell from the condition of the body, the man was dead, no doubt about that in his mind. His stomach involuntarily began to roil and he moved away from the car to regain his composure.

*****

Elinore picked up the newspaper. The headlines screamed across the top of the page. The Purple Feather Murderer Strikes Again. Another murder downtown. Conjecture ran for several columns about possible cause, who it may have been, how, and why he was murdered. She put the newspaper in her briefcase and walked the two blocks from the bus stop to her office. “Good morning Ms. Muich,” the doorman greeted her as she turned into the Wallington Plaza Suites office building. She tipped her wide-brimmed hat, smiled, and glided through the door into the lobby. The morning hubbub had already begun. She caught snatches of conversations, shock, and fear about the murder of a fellow co-worker. Left naked in his parked car. “How humiliating, his poor wife,” someone remarked. Indeed, Elinore thought. His conduct, if his poor wife found out, would have been far more embarrassing. The lecherous, two timing dolt got what he deserved. She pushed the elevator button for the top floor where the executive suites were located. There would be recruitment letters to send out and interviews to schedule to fill the place he left vacant. “Good morning Ms. Muich,” her receptionist said as she walked through the door. “Have you heard the awful news about Mr. Carver?”

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She nodded her head. Elinore strode into her office, Penny Drews hot on her heels, talking a hundred miles an hour about phone calls, appointments and meetings. Penny handed her the stack of messages and a steaming cup of coffee. “Thank you Penny. Would you reschedule all my appointments today? With Mr. Carver’s death we will need to get some recruitment letters in the mail and post the job opening in the junior executive offices.” She shooed the girl back out the door, plopped her briefcase on her desk, and removed the newspaper and the files she had taken home to work on. She sat down, picked up the coffee and swiveled to look out over the expanse of city below. Cross Point had grown by leaps and bounds as she had struggled up the steps to the top of Smith, Smith and Muich Enterprises. A hard fought battle that no two-bit male chauvinist would take away from her because she refused to play footsie with him. She spun back around to answer the intercom as Penny buzzed her. “Heather Highmark to see you,” she announced. “Send her in,” Elinore said. She put her cup down, smoothed her short, red hair and laced her long slender fingers together on the desk in front of her. As Penny led Heather Highmark in, Elinore motioned to the chair in front of her desk. “Please have a seat. Care for coffee, a soda, anything?” Heather declined and Elinore dismissed Penny. Elinore knew Heather had been working with the police to help try to solve the series of strange murders. She wondered what, if anything, this girl knew. She hoped she had a way to find out. “Here is the book you ordered,” Heather said, reaching across the desk to hand Elinore the first edition copy of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Elinore had the second edition translated by Edward Fitzgerald; this would be a magnificent addition to her collection. Elinore picked up the book as if it were fragile crystal. Fine literature and early editions of classic works lined her bookshelves, it was one of the few passions she allowed herself. “Oh, it’s exquisite,” she sighed. Placing the book in front of her, she slid her hand over the cover of the slender volume like a lover caressing her mate and carefully opened the cover. “What price were you finally able to get it for? Oh no, never mind, it really doesn’t matter. Penny will write you a check.” She held the book like an art lover might hold an original Van Gogh. “What does it matter? This treasure is mine…all mine.” “I think we nearly stole it,” Heather said as she slid the bill across the desk to Elinore. “Marvelous. You are a shrewd business woman,” Elinore said as she buzzed her receptionist. “Write the lady a check, will you dear.” She handed Penny the bill.

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“Who shall I make the check to?” Penny asked. “The Wizard’s Bookstore is fine,” Heather said. Penny left to prepare the check. “I know you do tarot readings, but I’m wondering if you ever channel for the dead. Like say, I wanted you to try to reach Fitzgerald. You know, to know what he was thinking when he translated this.” She watched Heather’s face carefully to see her reaction, trying to decipher her thinking process while she waited for her to answer. “I have never tried to reach the long dead,” Heather said finally. “I’m not at all sure how to go about that. I don’t know even if I would be strong enough to do something like that. I do Tarot readings, but have never held a séance.” Elinore smiled. So she hadn’t tried to talk to the dead for the police. Unless she had seen—had a vision of a future assault on the dead men, she would not actually have asked the victims who murdered them. “I understand. I was just curious.” Elinore breathed a sigh of relief as Penny returned with the check and handed it to Heather. Heather stood up prepared to leave. “If you would like someone to do a séance for you, I can try to find you a medium,” she said. “No, actually, I find that rather distasteful. I mean the dead should remain so, and undisturbed, don’t you think?” Heather agreed and Elinore watched her weave her way towards the elevator. What would Heather Highmark see if she had her do a reading for her? Elinore thought. She may have to make an appointment to find out just what Heather could tell from a tarot reading, if anything.

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Chapter Two

Heather Marie Highmark counted out the day’s receipts and made out the night deposit slip. A couple hundred dollars a day average would provide her with adequate living expenses. Why Mr. Wizard had willed her the bookstore she could only imagine. The fact that he had no living relatives, and that she had worked for him since high school probably had something to do with it. She had always liked him and she was grateful for the business. Old books and bells were her passion. She learned the apothecary and tarot reading from him. It was a perfect match for her. She stacked her tarot cards and covered the small table, where she did readings for people, with the red silk cloth that had always covered it. As a child, her clairvoyant tendencies had always brought her trouble and chiding from friends, so that part of her she kept secret and never told anyone. Once in a while she tried to warn people, but it only brought more condescension, so she avoided revealing what she saw. At least until the police started taking her seriously a few years ago, though they asked that it be kept secret because of the media attention it would draw. It wasn’t until she decided to work on allowing the visions to happen, that she began seeing them more easily and clearly. She marveled at how much the human mind is capable of. How much her mind was capable of seeing. Turning the closed sign around on the door, she pulled the shades halfway down and turned off the bright overhead light. “Good night, Mr. Wizard,” she said as she turned the light on over the sign that now glowed above the window. ‘The Wizard’s Bookstore and Apothecary’ sign sprung to life and cast a pleasant glow over the display in the window. What must it have been like to have to go through school with a last name of Wizard she wondered? As she picked up the chakra necklace that a customer must have been looking at and left on the counter, to replace it in its holder, a vision flashed across her consciousness. The vision hit her powerfully, with the force of a good gust of wind. It knocked her off balance for a moment. A purple haze floated a few inches above the ground rising slowly to encapsulate a man’s shadow. He fell in a crumpled heap and the haze rose up out of the vision. Her brother’s face hovered above the scene and then it all vanished.

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Shaking, she reached for the phone and dialed her brother’s apartment. The phone rang and rang. “Not here, be back soon. You know what to do and how to do it. So at the tone…” Roy’s deeply masculine cheerful voice greeted her. She recognized it was the answering machine immediately but let it play through. “This is Heather. Call me when you get home. It’s nine-fifteen p.m.,” she said, and hit the disconnect button. She immediately dialed her mother’s number and waited for her to pick up. After the normal how-are-you and how-was-business-today pleasantries, Heather asked, “Have you heard from Roy today?” Her mother answered that she hadn’t, but this was his night for recreational league basketball, so she didn’t expect to hear from him. “Why? Is something wrong?” her mother asked. Heather never could keep anything from her mother. Catherine Highmark read her daughter as easily as yesterday’s newspaper. “No, was just looking for him because I got the book in that he’d been waiting for. I just left a message on his machine. I’ll be home soon,” she said. She chatted a few minutes more to be sure her mother wouldn’t think it suspicious, no need to get her all in a tizzy. She hated it when Heather told her of her visions. Her mother would shush her with ‘people will think you’re crazy with that nonsense’. Satisfied her mother didn’t suspect anything she hung up. Roy’s recreation league played at Kemper’s Bowling Alley and Gym, not far from the bookstore, she decided to walk over there. As she started out the back door, police cars and an ambulance flew by on Main Street, sirens wailing, lights flashing. She hurried out to the street to see how far down the block they were going. They seemed to have stopped in front of the bowling alley. Fear gripped her heart and panic sent her racing down the street, hoping the vision she had just had was not being played out at Kemper’s Bowling Alley. She sent a prayer skyward, “Please let Roy be all right.” Her chest ached from running the three blocks. She couldn’t believe how out of shape she was. There were several police officers holding back people from trying to crowd in to get a firsthand look at what was going on. Her mind raced. How could she get past them to see what had happened inside? How she hoped and prayed her visions wasn’t…she didn’t want to think about it. Several people started pushing and shoving, trying to break through the line. One of them was a reporter for The Rag Daily. It was a carbon copy of the many gossip sheets springing up all over the place. Reporting trouble or inventing it all the time, she thought, but they created the diversion she needed to slip through to the inside of the bowling alley.

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A group of men in shorts and t-shirts stood off to one side. The ambulance crew was frantically working over a blonde haired male on the floor. “Thank God it isn’t Roy,” she murmured. She spotted Roy and waved at him. He and Langdon Cruise, the arrogant rich boy-turned-homicide detective, were standing at the edge of the excitement. They both waved and Roy started toward her. Langdon Cruise thought every woman should fall at his feet and worship the money he walked on. Well, she refused to become part of his harem and it bugged him to death. She had noticed how he turned up the charm a few notches each time their paths had crossed. Still, she refused. Roy tried several times to try to talk her into going out with him, giving him a chance. Again, she refused. “I was worried about you,” she said giving her brother a hug. “What about me?” Langdon said, closing in on the twosome. She gave him a disgusted look. “Is a phone call still a quarter?” she asked, knowing he’d get the rest of the message to call someone who cared. Why was she so vicious to him? Was she so afraid she might succumb to his charms that she needed to be extra crude so she wouldn’t. She became angry with herself and offered a weak laugh, hoping he’d take it as a tease rather than the rude remark that it was. “Ohhh, sharp tongue, quick wit. I love a woman who can see through me to my real self, and a phone call is more like seventy-five cents now days.” “What happened?” she said, ignoring his remark and turning to Roy. “One of the newer guys—weirdest thing. He came staggering out of the locker room and just collapsed,” Roy said. “He was late. When he came rushing in he had a shit eating grin on his face—like the cat who got the cream. Like he’d made a major score, not five minutes earlier,” Langdon said. “What brought you down here?” Roy asked. “Oh, I was closing up shop and saw all the commotion, decided to check it out before I went home.” She knew she didn’t dare tell Roy about her vision. He didn’t believe in that ‘garbage’, as he called it. Langdon jumped on the chance. “You need a ride home? It’s right on my way, be glad to drop you.” Her brother winked at her. She gave him that ‘help me’ look. He put up his hands. “Sandy’s meeting me at the club. Why don’t you come along, Langdon and you?” She shot him an angry look. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow, can’t be hanging around with you play boys,” she said.

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“One drink. Then I’ll take you right home, scouts honor,” Langdon said, raising his hand in a Boy Scout salute. Roy smiled broadly, as though he had done what he planned to do. He and Langdon had been on and off friends since kindergarten and they always were quick to set each other up with the ‘most’ eligible females around. Guess that made her fair game. “One drink,” she said. “If the cops and ambulance are through with you.” “No reason for cops, really. Guy just probably had a heart attack or something. No reason to suspect foul play. No knife wounds, bullet holes, just a boring DOA,” Langdon said. “Besides, they won’t let me near this case because I was already here when it happened. So if there are suspects, I will be one too, and therefore can’t be involved with the investigation.” “What about the frothing at the mouth, that purple foam?” Roy said and Langdon elbowed him. He flinched, but got the message not to talk about it in front of Heather. “We got to get dressed. Be out in a shake.” They both turned and headed to the locker room. Heather listened to the EMT’s. “Looks like poisoning. Blue fingernails, blue lips. Coroner may as well transport this one,” one said as he looked at his watch. “TOD nine-twenty-six pm,” he said into the recorder. Actually, Heather knew he couldn’t officially call him dead; only a coroner or doctor could do that. It was merely a formality and for him a PYA… The law was strange sometimes she had to admit. They covered the face of Max Quale, but not before Heather saw the purple froth that Roy had mentioned. She had never seen any thing like it. The EMT’s waited for the coroner. Heather waited for Roy and Langdon; not at all sure she wanted to endure even an hour of Langdon Cruise’s braggadocio. So, why did she agree? To please her brother, he always could twist her around his finger. Five years her senior and he had been her hero all her life.

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Chapter Three

Langdon and Roy went to get drinks from the bar while Sandy and Heather saved a place for them at the small corner table. “So what do you think about all these deaths among the Rec. League players?” Sandy said. “I’m beside myself to tell you the truth. I am so worried Roy may be next.” “Really? What makes you figure that?” Fear seemed to register in Sandy’s gray-blue eyes. She ran her hand through her shoulderlength, straight blonde hair, then let it fall back from its natural center part. She was very pretty, Heather thought, and a nice match for Roy. She didn’t want to scare her off with her clairvoyance. “Oh, call it woman’s intuition. Or sisterly love. I worry if others in their group are falling by the wayside—if someone is out to…who knows what? They all might be in danger.” “But Langdon’s a homicide cop. He should know if there’s danger to the group, wouldn’t you think?” Sandy wasn’t the model they used for dumb blonde jokes. She was very intelligent, Heather was certain. Nothing was lost on her. “I would hope that was true,” she said. Their line of investigation was interrupted by the return of Roy and Langdon. “Where was Max Quale from?” Sandy asked. “I never saw him around before he started hanging with the guys from the Rec. League,” she said. “Don’t really know. He just showed up one day,” Roy said. “Didn’t he say he worked for that Smith, something enterprises, an exec of some sort?” Langdon offered. “Yeah, that’s right. Guess he was originally from Texas. Funny how those Texans keep drifting northward.” “Seems they always wind up in trouble up here too,” Langdon said. “You mean the Yankees and the Confederates still can’t get along?” Heather said. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

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Small talk followed, going nowhere. Heather finally apologized for being the party-pooper but she needed to head home as she had an early day tomorrow. “Let me drive you,” Langdon offered. “That would be okay, but then how would I get to work tomorrow?” she said. “I would appreciate it if you would drive me back to my car though, save me cab fare.” “Be delighted,” Langdon said. She knew he would. He’d do anything to get her to see him socially. She kind of liked him when he was just being one of the guys. If only he didn’t have to go into his arrogant-little-rich-boy mode, they might have a chance. “What do you know about Elinore Muich?” Heather asked as she fastened her seat belt. “She’s one of the top execs over at Smith, Smith and Muich; other than that, not much. Why?” “I’m curious; she bought a book from the shop and I delivered it to her at her office today. But, the people over there refer to her…well, it just seems there’s an air about her.” “Many women of the ‘new age’ have a business name, persona if you will, and a private persona. Maybe you are being overly sensitive.” “I would think Elinore Muich sounds much more sophisticated and corporate than our small town is used to. Did you know she collects antique books?” “Perception, my dear, perception. That’s an interesting hobby. Any particular collection or title?” “I never really got a chance to look at the titles. It just seemed a different sort of thing to collect.” The starched, black and white red head who loves antique and classic books puzzled her. Something in her presence stirred Heather’s psychic side. She didn’t dare tell Langdon that. She thanked him for the lift and got in her own car. He waited for her to start it before he buzzed off down the street. Heather sat in her car, leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She wished her brother would listen to her. She wished he’d believe that she actually saw things before they happened. Deep breaths, slow your breathing down, get a grip, she told herself. She was angry that Roy was discounting her warnings. And she was worried it could cost him his life. She was powerless to do anything if he wouldn’t listen. She pulled the car in gear and turned out into the street. The radio offered Kenny G’s love affair with his saxophone and she let his rich notes soothe her agitated mood. If Mother would already be in bed, I wouldn’t have to suffer through an inquisition about Roy or the latest death from the Rec. League

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tonight. Her mother always listened to the news. Nothing escaped her. Heather pulled into the driveway and hit the automatic garage door opener. The door jumped and continued its upward climb. Some modern contraptions were great and this was one of them. She pulled her purse across the seat as she hit the button to have the door come back down. She exited the service door into the back door entranceway to the house. It was late and she was exhausted. Catherine Highmark sat in the darkened living room with only the television providing illumination. She had fallen asleep in front of the television again. Heather gently shook her shoulder to awaken her. The elder Mrs. Highmark jumped, startled by Heather’s touch. “Oh, it’s you dear. I must have fallen asleep during the news.” Heather was relieved because then there was a chance she hadn’t yet heard about the new death– no inquisition and no frightening diatribe about no one being safe in their own homes anymore. “Would you like something to eat? Perhaps I could warm you some of the delicious hot dish I fixed for you for supper tonight.” “I’m sorry Mom. I should have called. Roy, Sandy, Langdon, and I went over to Driscol’s. I’m not hungry, just tired.” “No matter. It will be just as good tomorrow night,” she said. Heather could hear the hurt in her voice. She had been grossly inconsiderate not to call her mother, but with the incident at the bowling alley, she had completely forgotten. She didn’t dare tell her mother why, not tonight. “I really am sorry Mom. I would have thought you raised me better.” They both laughed at Heather’s remark and Mrs. Highmark shuffled toward her bedroom. “I’ll see you in the morning dear,” she said. Heather was glad for the silence and safety of her room as she journaled about the incidents of the day, including her reluctance to get tangled up with Langdon though her brother seemed intent on playing matchmaker. As she wrote she relaxed and by the time she crawled into bed, she was calm and peaceful, ready for a good night’s sleep. Sleep came quickly. When the dream started, she tried to tell herself to wake up. But it wasn’t that easy. A man lying on the ground–the purple haze floating up and away from him–her brother’s face above it all, and this time a woman—at least a shadow of a woman. She couldn’t make out any of her

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features. Before she vanished with the purple mist, a feather drifted out of the haze—a purple feather like you’d find on a boa, or an ostrich plume, she thought. Heather sat bolt upright in bed and looked at the alarm clock; it was three in the morning. She’d been asleep three hours. Now she was wide-awake and couldn’t get back to sleep. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to. She tiptoed down the hallway and got herself some milk to warm in the saucepan she pulled from the cupboard. She used the range, the microwave would beep and wake her mother, the range wouldn’t she reasoned. Where had that woman and the purple feather come from? Who was she? Would she see her again? Would the vision eventually define itself before someone else died and maybe this time her brother?

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Chapter Four

Heather called her brother from the bookstore the next day. “Did you hear anything about what caused Max Quale’s death?” she asked. “No, why? Should I? Hardly knew the guy.” “I was curious is all. Roy…I keep having this dream.” She could hear the disgust in his voice as he groaned. “Oh, not that again. You and your dreams. You know what—you need to get a life. Why don’t you take Langdon up on his offer for a weekend skiing at Aspen? It would probably do you good.” Heather became furious. For him not to believe her dreams was one thing, but to imply—no, to suggest—she would shack up with some guy just to get to go skiing in Colorado was the worst kind of insult. “How dare you? All I’m trying to do is protect you and you have the guts to suggest…urooh!” she said and slammed down the receiver. Bull-headed moose; he’s as arrogant as Langdon. They deserve each other and whatever the murderer decides to do to them. The police didn’t know that Max Quale’s death was a murder yet, but they did schedule an autopsy because he was basically a healthy individual. It seemed odd that he just keeled over. And what about the purple froth from his mouth? As a matter of course the local PD would always request that the coroner’s office did an autopsy on a death of unusual or unsuspected occurrences. In time she should have an answer, hopefully before Roy came to any harm, though sometimes she wasn’t sure why she should care if he didn’t. She glanced at the front page of the paper. August Carver of Smith, Smith and Muich found dead in his car. Why would that…? Then it hit her; Elinore Muich and the place she worked. He was one of their employee’s as was Max Quale. What in the devil? She read on to discover they expected foul play the details were sketchy, but what was a man of his financial stature doing in that part of town late at night? Taking the newspaper back to her desk in the back room, she laid it aside when the front doorbell chimed. The arrival of a customer was always a welcome sound.

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When she walked out into the bookstore she was surprised to see Langdon standing there with his partner, both dressed in business or should she say work suits. He made quite a piece of eye candy in a suit. He was handsome, she thought. But what business would bring him here. “The chief wants to see you down at head quarters,” Langdon said. No ‘Hello, how are you? Did you sleep well?’ Nothing, just an order. Like he thought he could order her around. “Excuse me? I have a business to run,” she said, giving him her most indignant look. “Officer Janice will tend the place until you get back,” he said, not giving an inch in the civility department. She looked from Langdon to the woman he called Officer Janice; the officer shrugged. “I’ve been a bookstore clerk all through college. It’ll be fine, promise you,” she said, smiling a delightful little twisted smile. Heather was angry and she wasn’t sure what angered her more, Langdon’s superior attitude or Janice being his partner. How dare he have a woman for a partner? How dare he order her around? The chief would at least have asked, not ordered. Then she checked herself. She couldn’t stand Langdon, so why should she care who he had for a partner? Heather showed Officer Janice—Dixie, she said to call her—how the ancient till worked. Then she grabbed her coat and let Langdon take her elbow and escort her out of The Wizard’s Bookstore and Apothecary. “Would you mind telling me why you’re treating me like some prisoner?” she asked as he opened the unmarked police car door for her to get in. He shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He put the car in gear without saying a word. Okay, if that’s the way he wanted to play it, she wouldn’t talk to him either. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the passenger side window at the large, fluffy snowflakes drifting aimlessly toward the street. She had always called the big, fluffy slow falling snowflakes Christmas flakes, because that’s what they reminded her of. She wondered if Langdon new it took a snowflake an hour to go from cloud to ground no matter how big it was. She wondered if he’d even care to know that. How she wished she could go back to those fun, careless days when snowflakes were a good sign. When snowflakes meant winter sports, even if it didn’t include a trip to Aspen. Was that what this was about? Was he there when Roy told her to go to Aspen with Langdon? She glanced over at him, his square jaw line jutted out toward the windshield. She could recognize anger in someone’s posture and Langdon’s screamed anger.

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Well, too bad. He was acting childish and arrogant as usual. He swung into the ‘reserved for Cruise’ spot in the PD parking lot and walked around to open her door. Serve him right to have to treat her like a lady through gritted teeth and wounded pride. What a jerk, she thought. She slid out of the passenger seat, purposely letting the split of her skirt rise higher as she pulled one leg, then the other out, to place her feet on the street. He reached down and took her hand to help her up and she accepted. He pulled her to him as if she had stumbled, which she hadn’t. “Why not Aspen?” he whispered as his lips brushed past her ear. Then he released her, took her arm and led her up the stairs and into the police station. Inside butterflies skittered in her, causing a blush to rise and she was sure her cheeks turned crimson. “Why didn’t you tell me you were psychic, or clairvoyant, or a damn palm reader—whatever it is you do for a living and that the Chief thinks you can do for the department?” he said as he nearly pushed her into the room marked homicide. His hand on the small of her back, as much as it angered her, sent sparks throughout her body. He half pushed, half guided her between the rows of desks, eyes turned to stare as they went through.

Questions being fielded to witnesses paused as they passed desks.

Typewriter keys slowed their deliberate clickety-clack, and the stale smell of cigarette smoke mixed with a plague of different aftershaves and deodorants assaulted her nostrils as they hung in the air in the small, crowded office space. Langdon opened the door marked Chief of Detectives and escorted her in. “All right Cruise, I’ll take it from here. I’ll call you when she is ready to return to her bookstore.” She could tell Langdon hated to be dismissed like some errant child. He wouldn’t be in on the grilling or whatever it was the chief had in mind. Aw, too bad, she thought to herself, but glad for the reprieve from the effect he had on her. The chief had some questions for her all right. About Max Quale, about August Carver, and would she be willing to try to get a reading from their belongings? “Can you give me an itinerary—a list of their whereabouts of that day preceding their death?” she asked. She hoped the chief would think that that was the way she would be able to do a reading, enabling her to see what they saw. If he did she would let him think that. It may help her find the thread that connected the victims other than the fact that they both worked for Smith, Smith and Muich Enterprises. How odd they died within a day of each other. Was somebody cleaning house she wondered? “I’ll see what I can do Chief. Where are their belongings?”

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“They’re down in the evidence room lock up. Follow me,” he said taking her through a side entrance instead of through the homicide room. She was glad she didn’t have to feel Langdon’s eyes on her again. “We only have Max Quale’s belongings to check out because the other guy…well, because— excuse me, but…he was buck naked when they found him. We’ll go down to the impound and let you try to use his car.” “Are you convinced the two deaths are some how connected?” she asked. “This is strictly confidential, don’t you breathe a word of it to anyone.” He studied her for a minute. She shrugged. “Okay, scouts honor,” she said, raising her right hand. “We found a purple feather with both of these guys. Well, Quale had it tucked in his jacket pocket in his locker, but Carver, it was on the seat beside him.” Heather almost fainted as the sight of the purple feather drifting down from her last two dreams raced through her mind. She caught herself on the stair railing. “You okay?” the chief said, grabbing her elbow. “It’s nothing. I just caught my heel,” she lied and wondered why she didn’t just tell him about the dream. He would believe her; he had worked with her enough to know her visions were real. Something kept her from mentioning it though. The nagging in the back of her mind said the purple haze made absolutely no sense. He would think she was losing her mind. And what would Langdon say, and why should she care what he thought? she angrily chastised herself. The chief held her elbow and guided her down the rest of the stairs. He signed out the box with Max Quale’s belongings in it and they went to one of the interrogation rooms.

“Coffee, soda,

anything?” he asked. “I could use a soda; diet would be good,” she said, glad to have a few minutes alone to collect her thoughts. Could she really read some one’s belongings? she wondered. The chief came back with her drink and she took a long silent swallow. He pulled a shirt, a pair of jeans and some tennis shoes out of the box, then he handed her Quale’s wallet. “If anything will let you read a man, it’s his wallet,” he said as he handed it to her. She held the brown leather without moving for a long time. Then she opened it and began looking through it. A picture of a striking woman and two adorable children. “Was he married?” she asked. How sad for his family, and those two precious children growing up without their father.

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“Yes, I’m afraid he was. Lived in a ‘burb of Chicago. The family was going to move here in the late spring if his new job panned out.” A twinge of grief for the family cut across her chest, and she got a vague impression of trouble. Some unsettled domestic turmoil. It was probably her imagination. Of course there would be turmoil if they were jobless, planning on moving several states away from friends, perhaps family too. She was projecting how she would feel, not necessarily what was going on with the Quale’s. She shook her head. “I’m sorry Chief, I can’t feel or see anything,” she said, handing him back the wallet. Fear floated through her mind, not her fear but, could it be his? She tried to hold onto the feeling but it faded and she got none other. “Let’s try Carver’s car, if you don’t mind,” he said. They went out to the impound garage through a basement exit. The chief opened the front door of the silver Cadillac; the plush interior was bloodstained. “The paper said they didn’t know how he died. The blood—was he shot?” she asked. From the amount of blood covering the upholstery, she knew it had to be something horrendous. “No,” the Chief said, his face drained of color. “He was poisoned.” “But the blood? What—?” The chief held up his hand and turned away. She thought he must have seen every kind of dirty deed imaginable. Whatever it was must really be bad. He didn’t face Heather as he began to speak. “His…his member…his penis was cut off and stuffed in his mouth,” he said. She could see the red rise from his collar up his ears and into the bald spot on top of his head. “I’m sorry.” She turned and put her hands on the car seat avoiding the bloodstain. Nothing. No vision. No fear. Only her own revulsion at the grossness, the evil sick mind that could have perpetrated such a monstrous crime. “I don’t see or feel a thing Chief. I really wish I could help, but…” She let the statement float. The chief slammed the car door without looking at the interior again. “Not your fault. I knew it was along shot, but we’re really grabbing at straws here. We’re catching a lot of flack from uptown too. I appreciate you coming down. I’ll have Cruise take you back to your store now. If anything occurs to you, no matter how bizarre—” He turned and studied her for a minute. “Not a word of this to anyone, you understand? We aren’t giving the media everything in the hopes we can use some of it to trip up the perp when we catch him.” Or her, Heather thought, but only nodded. “You can count on my silence Chief.” As silent as the two corpses on your morgue slabs, but not as dead she hoped as the purple feather floated by her mind again.

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Chapter Five

When you own a business, your lunch hours can be as long as you can afford to have your business closed, Heather thought as she turned the ‘gone to lunch, be back at’ sign around. She turned the little clock hands ahead an hour and a half. She wanted to give herself plenty of time. Right on schedule Langdon Cruise pulled up in front of the store. Guess cops can get away with double parking, she thought as she closed and locked The Wizard’s front door. She wondered about changing the fanciful exterior with its stars and hints of magic to something a little less fantasy, more in line with her own inner balance. Langdon unlatched and pushed the passenger door open by reaching across from the driver’s seat. His long lean body would let him do that, Heather thought as she slid in and closed the door. “How about that little Chinese restaurant?” he asked. She agreed. Food was food and that place was usually quiet enough to hold a conversation without shouting or sitting in each other’s lap. “How’s your investigation going with the Rec. League murders?” she asked, trying for nonchalance and knowing she never quite made it. “That’s an interesting name for it. You know I belong to the Rec. League and have no intention of becoming one of those statistics.” “I didn’t mean anything by it except, the two deaths, if they were murders, so far have been guys tied in with the Rec. League,” she said. “We were looking at a couple other similar cases from Mossberg.” “Recent?” she asked. “Nearly a year old now. Unsolved, but one of the detectives from over there was here picking up a burglary transport. We were all talking in the briefing room. He said they had three similar cases and always the…” He never finished what he was about to say. Heather knew it was because he had already said too much to a civilian, although he pretended a bad driver, who cut him off and stole the parking spot he was aiming for, was the reason he stopped talking about it. She saw his face flush. Was it anger at the interloper or embarrassment that he talked too much, she wasn’t sure.

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“Bullies everywhere,” he said, sliding into a different parking slot farther away from the restaurant. “No couth, but exercise is good for you I hear. Hope you don’t mind an extra walk.” “Fine with me. Never do enough of that anyway,” she said as he opened her car door. She loved men who still wanted to open doors, hold chairs, and in general be the gentleman who throws his coat over the mud puddle in the street. The vision made her laugh as she always pictured a hole under that puddle and the fair damsel disappearing from sight into the bowels of the sewers below. She had to stifle a chuckle or she’d have to explain that to Langdon, and she doubted he would find it as amusing as she did The Chinese Restaurant, as it was called, served every kind of Chinese dish but many American staples like burgers and fries. She opted for Sweet ‘n Sour Chicken, while Langdon had Beef and Snow Peas. Soft Oriental music drifted lightly over muted conversations quieted even further by the heavy brocade wallpaper and plush velvet booths. She wondered aloud, “How do they keep the booths clean? People always spill food.” “Never thought of it before. Velvet would stain wouldn’t it? Scotch Guard™ to the rescue,” he said, eyeing the upholstery as though it would supply the answer to his question. “Do you believe in…? Wait—let me rephrase that. What do you think of psychics, or people with clairvoyant tendencies?” she asked. “That’s a loaded question. I should tell you the Chief told me why he asked to see you. He also said he trusted he could tell you things about the homicides that he knew would never get back to the media, at least not through you. He has a good deal of respect for your abilities.” “I didn’t realize you…” She let it drop. He still took her to lunch even though he knew about her psychic powers, so she didn’t scare him off in terms of her abilities, anyway. He watched her for a long time. The silence nearly made her start prattling on about some nonsense just to break the tension she was feeling. Why should she care what he thought about her? She didn’t care. He was her brother’s friend; he didn’t need to be hers. Then why was this knot sitting in her stomach like a granite boulder, begging him to accept her with all her idiosyncrasies? “Just so we’re on the same page,” he finally continued. “I’m cool with it, but you have to make me one promise.” She looked up from her plate, pineapple wedge impaled on her fork on its way to her mouth. “I’ll do what I can,” she said. Heather would never agree until she knew what she was expected to promise. “You have to promise not to try to read my mind.”

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There isn’t much to read in a vacuum, she thought as she laughed. “That’s an easy one. I’ve never read anyone’s mind. So, I promise your mind is safe with me, or should I say from me? She didn’t learn anymore from Langdon than she already had from the chief. They were no closer to solving the murders than they were on day one, except they now knew a gas resembling hydrochloride in its effects poisoned both men. The strange thing was, there were others around those people and they didn’t succumb; that made it very curious. The purple feather, or plume, was another oddity. They were analyzing them at the lab at Madison as Cross Point didn’t have sophisticated enough equipment to do it. Perhaps they could turn up a manufacturer or seller or even a trace of some other substance that could provide a clue. Heather’s love of Patricia Cornwell books informed her about forensic intricacies and not to discount anything as having evidence potential.

*****

Heather was busy filling little jars with various herbs when the bell tinkled announcing the arrival of a customer. She looked up as Elinore Muich walked through the open door into The Wizard’s. Elinore’s entrance reminded her of the old television show her mother loved—Loretta Young swirled through the door. Elinore did the same. The hat today, and she always wore a hat, was a turban style with a broach in the middle; her coat a plum colored rich, wool cape. She’d love to get a peak at the woman’s wardrobe. She knew underneath all the glitter was the black and white business persona, but she rather liked the lavender side of Ms. Muich. “What can I help you with today?” she asked, coming away from the stone table where she filled the apothecary jars. “Another book a friend just mentioned to me last night. Have you ever heard of a Beatrix Potter book—Cecily Parsley’s Nursery Rhymes? It’s a very tiny book with poetry and nursery rhymes you’ll remember from your childhood, I’m sure.” “I will do my best to locate a copy for you.” Elinore looked around the shop as though she were searching for something specific. Heather was about to ask her if there was anything else when she spoke. “You do still do readings?” She lowered her voice to a whisper, her gaze darting around the room as though she were about something clandestine, or was she embarrassed about asking for a reading. Heather knew some people worried what others would think of them for seeking a psychic or card reading.

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“Yes,” she said, pointing toward the back of the store. “I usually schedule them for after store hours so I can concentrate on them undisturbed. Are you interested?” Elinore’s gaze hurriedly scoured the store as though trying to unearth even the smallest mouse that may be listening. “Do you have an opening next week?” she asked. Heather set up Elinore’s appointment for nine next Wednesday evening. “But, would you put me in your book as Lavender? Let’s see…ah—Lavender Paige. I always wished my parents had been more imaginative. I was a great fan of Patty Page and my favorite color is lavender so—how about we call me Lavender Paige for purposes of this reading,” she said. Heather agreed. What a unique woman Elinore Muich was. She swirled out the door as well as Loretta Young ever did, leaving Heather in an eddy of a million questions she’d like to ask her. The main question in her mind was why two names? Why not? Authors do it all the time–some have several. Who says you have to accept who you were born to be, in someone else’s imagination? Why not pick a name you loved, one that really defined you later when you knew who you were. So, now Elinore was on her lavender page, perhaps later she would be in her chartreuse chapter. She laughed. “Heather your wit amazes me,” but I love my name, she thought. What color would I choose as me? There already was a Mean Joe Green; she ticked off other colorful names as she went back to her jars of herbs. Why not a color? she thought. What would she find when she read Elinore Muich? she wondered. The nervous woman in her shop was not the ‘in-control exec.’ at Smith, Smith and Muich Enterprises that she had seen yesterday.

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Chapter Six

The assistant homicide chief was outside the Chief’s office when Heather came in. “Is the Chief in?” she asked, wondering why the assistant was pacing outside the Chief’s office. “Use your psychic powers. You should be able to see where he is,” he barked at her. Heather was taken aback by his rudeness. She had grown to expect negative reactions to her powers in certain circles, however, it was definitely not what she expected here. “Excuse me? Have I done something to offend you Mr. Doxiter?” “Maybe you should take your voodoo games and go play them someplace else,” he snapped back at her. Not one for confrontations, she walked past him down the hall. She’d check with the desk jockey rather than deal with the likes of crude people like Doxiter. The officer at the main desk was ten times friendlier than Doxiter, telling her the Chief was carted off earlier in the day. They thought heart attack. Heather was shocked. The Chief seemed in such good shape. “Stress will do awful things to people,” she said as she turned and headed out the front door. Did Doxiter…? Could he possibly think she had anything to do with the Chief’s ill health? Preposterous, but small minds… That wasn’t fair she chastised herself. Simply because she hadn’t liked Doxiter since high school didn’t mean she should lower herself to his level. He made her angry—correction—she let him make her angry. She pulled her coat tighter around her and hurried to her car. She would need to have the florist send a get well… what?—bouquet? She doubted if the Chief would appreciate that. Martin Grueder was more of a shot and a beer kind of guy than flowers, though he tended an excellent vegetable garden. That’s it! She’d have them make up a basket with garden seeds and some expandable peat starter pots. He’d get a kick out of that. She unlocked The Wizard’s door and turned the sign around to open, then walked to the back to hang up her coat. The door jangled before she reached the back. A small man with a nervous tick to his right eye entered and stood looking back out the door as though someone was following him.

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Heather slid out of her coat and placed it on the hook along with her scarf and gloves. She started for the front when the frail skeleton of a man brushed by going toward the back room. “Do you have a back door?” he asked in a squeaky alto voice. He pulled his coat collar up so all she could see were his beady black eyes. “Yes, through there,” she said, feeling his fear and agitation now. He quickly stepped through the room and flew out the back door. The door bounced against the wall and returned to slam shut. The noise sounded like a gunshot. Wait…it was a gunshot. She grabbed her phone and raced for the backdoor, dialing nine-one-one. Cautiously she opened the door, not wanting to be one of the targets if the shooter was still out there. A foot beyond her door, face down in the ally, the small figure that had streaked through her store moments earlier lay motionless on the ground. His—no, her—hat a few feet in front of the body. Her dark hair cascaded off to one side as dark ooze stained the ground around her chest. She laid face down, not moving; only her hair and her fragile features gave her gender away. Heather glanced up and down the alley. No one was in sight. If anyone heard the shot they were ignoring it. That’s how people were nowadays. No one wanted to get involved. She stooped over the woman to check for a pulse. Her automatic pilot had taken over as she gave the dispatch officer the details of who, she didn’t know—what? Gunshot. Murder, she added. Where? In the alley behind my shop, The Wizard’s Bookstore and Apothecary. Siren’s screamed and minutes later the first black and white, lights flashing, tore down the alley. The car behind it was Langdon and his new partner. Heather braced herself for the questions they’d ask, knowing she couldn’t answer them. The alley soon was a buzz of lights and activity. She went back inside to tend to the store. Langdon soon came in while his partner began her map and record of the scene. “You just seem to draw trouble like a magnet, don’t you?” he said. “Any idea who she was?” he asked. “Actually, I thought she was a man until she lost her hat and her life in the alley.” She ignored his remark about her drawing trouble like a magnet. He was a jerk, and every time he opened his mouth he reinforced her impression of him. “I thought she was a frail, little old man with a twitch in his right eye.” Even the voice had escaped her notice, another reinforcement of her thoughts that people, herself included, don’t really see or hear anymore.

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“Sorry I can’t tell you more. She flew in here as I was returning from an errand. I had gone to the back to hang up my coat and she came in, stared nervously out the door, asked for the back door and flew out. The rest is in the alley.” “Whoever got her must have been familiar with the layout of The Wizard, because whoever it was knew there was an exit to the alley,” Langdon said. He left to go help with the investigation. A few curiosity seekers stood at the end of the alley in the entranceway, but there was no crowd, no great curiosity about the police and ambulance sirens or activity. Langdon came back in. “You sure you heard gun shots?” “The door slammed at the same time. I thought I heard a gun shot.” She emphasized the ‘a’. “Not gun shots; only one. Didn’t I?” “There are no bullet holes in the woman out there. There are no knife wounds in the woman out there, no entry or exit wounds of any kind,” he said, his face pale and crunched with concern. “The blood, the blood oozing from beneath her, I assumed…” She knew there was no use continuing. Assume does not work. Assume is a fools tool. Heather knew this. “You ready for this? She was carrying a bottle of some kind of red syrup. Pancake syrup like raspberry, thick, rich, and red.” Heather couldn’t believe her ears. She could have sworn there was a shot. She could have sworn there was blood oozing from under the woman. “Then she’s not dead?” she said, knowing full well the woman was because she hadn’t felt a pulse when she checked her. “Oh, she’s dead all right. The purple froth, the purple feather…but we won’t know how until the autopsy.” It was one of those days when Heather wondered about her sanity. First the Chief and now this. “The Chief!” Suddenly a tremor shuddered through her and his image appeared. “Have you heard how he is?” Suddenly, she felt very worried about him and his wife Grace. “He was stable last I checked. What does that have to do with this?” “Sorry. I…well, I was concerned about the Chief. I…” She let the phrase dangle because she couldn’t explain to Langdon her sudden feelings of dread. Heather was instantly furious. The young woman was dead; no more could be done for her except to find her killer and bring whoever it was to justice. “Humph, men,” she mumbled under her breath. “I’ve got work to do,” she said and turned on her heel, leaving Langdon chewing on his next words.

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How could he be so callous? Was he even planning to visit the Chief, or send flowers, excuse me—fishing tackle or something? One more reason I will never have anything to do with that man, she told herself as she dialed the flower shop.

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Chapter Seven

When Heather agreed to meet him for lunch, he knew it was only to pump him for news about the homicides. Not that he was pleased that his friends were being murdered off one at a time, but it got her to at least give him the time of day. Why should he be worried any more than with any other homicide? These guys all had other lives. It could be there was no common denominator at all. As usual, she was heaven on high heels as she floated out the door of the tiny shop. Okay, so maybe she didn’t float, but she could have. She looked good enough—he’d better stop before his thoughts grew physical manifestations. He leaned across the seat and flipped the door open for her. He glanced at the door and saw she had given herself an hour and a half for lunch. Yes, maybe he was making progress with her after all. Lunch happened and she returned to her bookstore. He couldn’t even get a commitment for another date. Was he losing his charisma, or was there something else going on here? She promised not to read his mind. Hell, she said she couldn’t read minds. No…no, she said she had never read one, that didn’t mean she couldn’t. He felt his insides twist like he’d been had. How does one date a clairvoyant woman, a psychic? Maybe he should just back off while he still could. Does she cast spells too? he wondered. Is that what The Wizard’s Bookstore is, a cover for a witch maybe? Langdon shook himself back to reality. Waiting for his attention was the stack of forms, in triplicate, he needed to get in today or Doxiter would have his ass. How that guy ever got to be assistant Chief beats the crap out of me, he thought. If the Chief wasn’t around to hold his hand, he didn’t know how to do anything. That would soon be evident if the Chief’s heart attack winds up being more serious than a warning to change his lifestyle. He was in the middle of more mundane paper work when the call came in about gunshots fired and a possible homicide behind The Wizard’s Bookstore. Langdon had to admit a pang of apprehension over Heather’s safety spurred him into a faster response than normal as he snapped at his partner to get

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her ass in gear. Bad move, he could get sexual harassment charges for that one. She grabbed her holster and jacket and nearly beat him to the car without an ounce of lip. My kind of woman, he thought. “All of a sudden little Cross Point has become a Mecca of crime. Thought you told me nothing ever happens around here,” she said, flicking on sirens and lights as Langdon pulled the unmarked car behind the squad car as they raced to the other side of town. “I should have my mouth washed out with soap for saying something like that,” he said, glad she wasn’t angry with him for snapping at her. At least he wasn’t totally batting zero with women. The alley was deserted except for Heather when they arrived. “Funny, no curiosity onlookers or sidewalk superintendents. You’d think a gun shot would bring every one running,” Dixie Janice said. “It does seem strange, doesn’t it?” By the time ambulance, police cars, and coroner’s vehicle lined the alley, a few people ventured into the street at the alley entrance. “You begin your sketch of the scene. I’m going to go talk to Ms. Highmark,” he said after he surveyed the scene and gathered his own information. Poor Heather. She must have been so on edge from the other two murders she thought she heard gunfire. Can’t imagine that bottle of raspberry syrup being broken could have made that kind of noise. He entered the backdoor of the store. Heather sat in a small chair by the apothecary table. She looked frightened. Maybe this would keep her from trying to play detective. She had no business meddling in affairs the police were paid to handle. A sure way to get your life cut short. “Hi.” Heather’s voice sounded weak, shaky. All at once he felt sorry for her, not angry. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. He told her about the raspberry syrup. All she did was stare at him open-mouthed. For a change she was speechless. “I wouldn’t expect you to know it, but unless a gunshot severed a carotid artery, there would not have been that great a blood flow so quickly,” Langdon said, watching her reaction. “But the woman is just as dead as if it had been a gunshot, right?” “You are right, but at this point we have no idea what might have killed her.” They talked about the events leading up to the woman’s strange death. “You really shouldn’t be messing around in police business,” he said as he was leaving. “I wouldn’t be if the chief hadn’t called me first.” She spun on her heel and walked briskly to the other room. Blew it again, he said to himself as he slipped out the back door.

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The ambulance had already taken the body, transporting it to the morgue. The forensic crew was packing their equipment into their van, and except for the huge, raspberry syrup colored stain, life had returned to mundane in the alley. He and Dixie climbed in their car and drove back to the station. Langdon put another hatch mark on the black board. It was portioned off into the days of the month’s calendar and already they had three Ms for murder filled in positions on the board. So much for sleepy, quiet Cross Point, where nothing ever happens, he thought, pulling up the report screen on his computer. He began filling in the form. If only Heather wouldn’t keep jogging across his mind, he’d get a lot more done. That girl needed an attitude adjustment. If she thought he was going to be impressed with her, she had another think coming. Plenty of fish in the ocean, but only one mermaid, he thought with a twinge of want. Was it want because you can’t have? he wondered. Pulling his mind back to the screen he began typing furiously, hoping to finish the report and get home at a decent hour today.

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Chapter Eight

Heather sat reading Blow Fly by Patricia Cornwell while she waited for her lunch, a shadow fell across the book and she looked up to see Langdon Cruise smiling down at her. Damn he was good looking. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing toward the seat across from her. “Not at the moment, but if you choose to sit there it will be,” she said, adjusting herself in the seat. She felt her face flush with embarrassment at such a stupid statement. Why did he always make her act so foolish? “What are you reading?” “Sharpening my sleuthing powers,” she said as she closed the book and pointed the cover at him. “Aha, Patricia Cornwell, good choice. Blow Fly...haven’t read that one yet.” She laid the book aside. “So how are things going with the investigation of the strange woman from the other day?” she asked. “Gwendolyn Harden; next of kin notified. No idea why she was running, or from whom. If she was employed, her family didn’t know where. Said she hadn’t really been in touch with them in years, so they say.” “How did you find out who she was then?” Heather asked. “Strange that. She had a card with a name and address printed on it in her coat pocket with ‘contact in case of emergency’ scrawled across the top. She must have been expecting something to happen to her.” “Her father’s first words were, ‘Oh great, so now we have to pay for her funeral. How typical of her.’” “How rude, no remorse, no sorrow, only the bottom line… money. The poor woman.” “That’s not exactly true. She wasn’t poor. Seemed she was well kept; at least her clothes and jewelry would indicate that. Now if only we could find out where she lived.” He hesitated while the waitress took his order.

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Heather was miffed. The woman was deliberately flirting with him in front of her. Well…okay, she checked herself. What do you care? You said you want nothing to do with him. He was talking to her again. She pulled her attention back from her anger—jealousy, she decided in an instant. “I don’t suppose you would consider trying to read where she came from? Can you do that sort of thing?” he asked with a sheepish grin. “Sometimes I see things, but I’ve not tried to find a dead person’s home. I’ll probably see her parents home if I saw anything,” she said. “Would you try? What could it hurt? The Chief said to ask you,” he added, as though the chief had some magic hold over her. “I’d do anything for Chief Grueder,” she said, deliberately making it obvious she wasn’t going to do it for Langdon. “Great! Can you come by after you close up shop this afternoon?” Heather agreed. The waitress brought their meal and melted all over Langdon, apologizing for the delay. He lapped up the attention, Heather noted, before turning his focus back to her after the sassy waitress left. “How about a movie tonight?” “Sure, why not? Haven’t been to a movie in ages,” she said almost too quickly. Then she mentally kicked herself. The only reason she agreed so readily was because the waitress was flirting with Langdon. “You are such a sad case of indecisiveness,” she muttered under her breath as she excused herself, picking up her copy of Blow Fly as she prepared to leave. “Let me know how you like that one. I was disappointed in Isle of Dogs, would like to see her back on track,” Langdon said. Heather said she would. For some reason she never pictured him as a reader. Interesting that they shared a common interest in a certain author. Heather wondered briefly what else they might have in common before she brushed that thought from her mind. What could she possibly have in common with an arrogant, obnoxious bore? That was followed by: if he’s such an arrogant, obnoxious bore, why did it bother her if the waitress flirted with him? Why did she agree to go to a movie, or try to help him find out who Gwendolyn Harden was? Angry at herself, she slammed her car in reverse and peeled out of her parking spot. A horn blared behind her; she had almost backed into an oncoming car. She threw her hands up in an apology, threw her car into gear and took off, the squealing tires mirroring her agitation. She could feel her face growing red. Certainly, Langdon would be enjoying her confirmation that he had succeeded in rattling her nerves once again. She shivered at what she had almost done

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because of his increasing presence in her mind. She became more determined she would not succumb to his charms. She would not be another skirt in his harem.

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Chapter Nine

The transformation took place the minute Elinore Muich entered the lobby of the Vintage Orchid apartments. She was no longer the starched perfectionist, the black and white militaristic dynamo her colleagues saw her as. She breezed through the lobby, inserted her tiny silver key in one of the boxes in the bank of mailboxes and withdrew the day’s junk mail, magazines and other mail that belonged to Lavender Paige. The act of retrieving that bit of another persona transformed her further. She threw back her head and let out a throaty, masculine laugh. The A-line black skirt molded over her full hips; it danced, swished and floated with her graceful walk as she flaunted back through the lobby to the elevator. Alone in the elevator she pulled the letter from Collier Downs out of the stack. She tapped it lightly against her cheek, as though somehow she could call the words from the envelope to her mind without opening it. Her laughter bounced off the empty elevator walls as she pushed the button for the thirteenth floor. The ascent was quick and uninterrupted. Pleased that she had been able to acquire the perfect apartment at such a steal, she slipped out of the elevator at the thirteenth floor and headed down the hall to the wide, double doors of suite thirteen. Because no one, at least very few people, would want to live on the thirteenth floor, not to mention suite number thirteen—precisely her reasoning—and management had no way around a thirteenth floor, they made it worthwhile for her to rent it. The seclusion and exclusive use of a whole floor were a bonus, at least until someone else dared to rent the other suite on the thirteenth floor. The adventurous, non-superstitious person who would occupy the other suite wasn’t anywhere in the near future, the way she saw it. The huge suite consisted of wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor windows at one end, facing Lake Superior. A panoramic view of her favorite lake, a whole floor all to herself at the top of the world, and no one to answer to; life was perfect. If black and white Elinore had decorated her suite it would have been chrome, square and cold, elegant but stiff. Since Lavender decorated it, there were more shades of purple in the world than anyone realized, and she used them all. Her favorite color, her passion, was purple in all its amethyst splendor.

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She deposited the mail on the stand next to the door and went straight to her bedroom to shed the rest of her unyielding office persona. Lavender at rest was sleek, fitted leggings, cropped t-shirt and bare feet. She sat at her dressing table and tested various blonde wigs, finally settling on one with lots of curl, lots of hair. She flipped it back over her shoulder and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Damn puffiness under her eyes, her allergies were kicking in again. She reached for a tube of Preparation H and lightly daubed some under each eye. If people knew her beauty secret, they would probably die laughing. Lavender stood and checked her shape. You have to age, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to do so gracefully; she’d fight every damn inch of the way. She toyed with the idea of going out to eat and have a few drinks, but then thought better of it. Three nights in a row; people would start to talk. It was a bit much even for her. No, tonight she would relax and watch the video’s she’d taped of her favorite daytime soap operas. Maybe she’d even read that new Patricia Cornwell novel. The woman had taught her a lot already about what kills. Of course, she didn’t have to use any of the suggestions; she had her own brand of lethal weapon. Laughter echoed in the small hallway as she headed toward the kitchen, gathering the mail as she went. She was famished. Maybe the strict diet she had been following was too rigid. Maybe tonight she would indulge in something totally decadent and fattening, she thought as she slid onto the barstool nearest her. She fished the letter from Collier Downs from the pile of mail and slid the thin, silver, razor-edged blade of the letter opener along the top edge of the envelope. She wanted to savor the feel of victory, of finally getting her way, although she always did. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the letter from the envelope and opened it. Ms. Paige, he began. “‘Ms Paige’? What the hell is that?” she screamed as she shook the letter. Her gaze flew down the page of the letter, her breath coming in short, angry bursts as she read the words. “Sorry…regret to inform you…bullshit!” She flung the letter across the room and bolted to her feet. She paced like a caged panther. “That arrogant, that pompous…” she stormed as she stalked around the apartment, one hand on her hip the other chasing through her hair. She pulled the wig from her head and sent it sailing after the letter. A few more short jab steps and she stopped, inhaled deeply and reached down to retrieve the letter and the wig. It had to be that woman, that whiney, snooty little witch he had been dating before Lavender set her sights on him. “We’ll see about that,” she said with new determination in her mind and her posture. If she couldn’t entice Collier away from the likes of Lacy Peterson, she was losing her touch. “I think its time Collier and I had a little face-to-face meeting,” she said, dialing the phone.

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“Collier darling.” She listened for a minute, her midsection tightening. “Yes, I got your letter. Whatever is bothering you we can talk about— you can’t mean—” More silence. “Well, if that’s the way you really want it, but I thought you might want to come by and pick up your things. Or, would you like me to bring them over to you?” She took in deep, heavy breaths, trying to calm the anger that was building in her. “Okay, when?” she demanded after another long pause. “Well, I’m not going to sit around here waiting for you to decide to come and pick it up some day, when you feel like it. If you want it you will pick it up tonight.” She slammed the receiver back into the cradle. He’d be there; she had no doubts about that. He couldn’t refuse her. She wandered into the bedroom, lit a few aromatherapy candles and slipped out of her clothes. She picked a new wig—long, straight and sexy. She slid into a nothing little teddy that revealed more than it hid, and draped a pale orchid duster over it. Carefully, she applied her makeup with an artist’s eye for highlighting the good and camouflaging the bad. She daubed behind her ears and in the dip between her collarbone and neck, in the crook of each elbow and behind her knees. Strategic and sensuous. She smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror and dimmed the lights before she left the room. The subtle scent of jasmine, orris and musk wafted on the air in her wake. Lights blazed in the living room and she muted them as she walked through to the bar in the corner of the room. She mixed Collier’s favorite cocktail and added just a touch of sleeping powder, enough to make him docile. She chuckled to herself. “Nobody gives Lavender Paige the boot—nobody!” Right on time the doorbell played its mix of bell and harp; she floated to the door.

*****

Dawn pulled itself up by amethyst threads mixed with pale pink and gunmetal-gray clouds. Lavender stirred, stretched and pulled herself out of bed. She glanced at the clock and headed to the shower. “Time to get back into Elinore mode,” she said as she pulled together a black short jacket trimmed with a black and white check, a white silk blouse and black long skirt. Turning on the hot water, she adjusted it with cold until it wouldn’t burn, but only warm her tired muscles. The warmth washed over her and imbedded images of Collier’s hands all over her body as he made passionate love to her one last time. “Damn, he was good in bed,” she said aloud. “Such a waste.” She scrubbed the loofah sponge vigorously over her torso then let the water and the heat pound against her, taming her wild memories, taming her Lavender side, melting it into the black and white corporate world of Elinore Muich.

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Lavender traded in her shades of purple world for Elinore Muich the minute she stepped from suite number thirteen and entered the elevator where she pushed the button for the first floor lobby. She smoothed her extremely short dark auburn hair away from her face as she waited for the car to bump to a halt at the first floor. Goodfellow, the day doorman, greeted her with his usual morning cheerfulness. “And a sprightly good day to you, Ms. Muich.” She thought his Irish brogue more invented than original, but let it pass. He was likeable and efficient. “Thank you and same to you, Goodfellow,” she said as he held the door for her. When she hit the street she slipped on dark mirrored sunglasses, hitched her black leather purse over one shoulder and pulled her black leather briefcase up under her arm. She waited for the walk light to blink on. As she crossed the street and walked the two blocks to her bus stop, her mind floated over Lavender’s activities of last night. She really needed to be getting more sleep if she was going to keep Mother Nature from sagging her valuables. Ah, but one last romp with Collier, she smiled. He is—was, she corrected herself—so good in bed. Too bad he had to go and cross her. She wondered how long before his body washed up on the shores. Lake Superior never gave up its dead easily—perhaps never, like the men of the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald. She gave the bus driver her pass. He punched one square with his unique butterfly shaped paper punch and handed it back to her without even looking at her. She supposed after running the same route day in and day out for year after year, all faces, bodies and people became one and merely footfalls in his work-a-day world. Lavender slid into an empty seat three seats behind the driver. He glanced up in the rearview mirror, his gaze connecting with hers. His eyes were the color of green olives with a sparkle, like he’d be full of mischief given half a chance. Then he put the bus in gear and tended to business for the rest of her ride. She couldn’t be sure if she detected interest in his gaze, but she didn’t have time to waste on a bus driver. If she ever deliberately sought out the company of a man, it was only those with enough money to make putting up with them worth her while. She breezed into the foyer of the office towers, up the elevator and into the reception area of the suite of offices occupied by Smith, Smith and Muich Enterprises. Her secretary Penny Drews scurried like a busy mouse to hand her messages about meetings, deadlines and crises that seemed to crop up over night. Drews chirped excitedly about a crisis at Johnson and Johnson Advertising, like she should drop everything and run over there immediately. The buzz was what Elinore craved. The stir, the yes sir, yes ma’am, hustle and bustle of the market had as much high pressure action as the stock exchange, and consequences nearly as dire if you failed to jump while the iron was hot. Was that a mixed metaphor?

She thought for a moment then shrugged.

“Who cares?” she said aloud.

As Chief

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Consultant for Johnson and Johnson’s advertising campaign before why they were so shook up this time was beyond her. Everything seemed in order for the campaign and was marching along right on schedule. She would call them first thing and sooth their shattered nerves. Drews hastily set her planner, files and coffee in front of her. “Anything else?” she asked in her whiney, little bird-like voice. Elinore nearly reached out to strangle the annoying, little chirping birdwoman, but controlled herself, remembering what an outstanding secretary she was. “Nothing,” she said, waving her hand like she was shooing an annoying fly or mosquito away from her. Elinore glanced at her calendar. She had scheduled a tarot reading with that girl in The Wizard’s Bookstore. She needed to question her, but she would have to somehow get next to her first. Having a reading done seemed like a good way. Not that she believed in the silly business of tarot cards, fortunetellers and all that supernatural hyperbole, but the girl had something she needed to know about. What was her connection with the men of the recreation league? Most of them were as annoying as gnats. Most of them were male chauvinists. Most of them were on her list. She really hated to put a woman on that list. But there were some that deserved to be… She shook the thought from her mind and dialed Johnson and Johnson’s phone number. What could their crisis be all about? she wondered. Heather Highmark would have to wait while she attended to business of another sort.

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Chapter Ten

Mavis Tory’s face lit up when she saw Heather enter the evidence room. “Great to see you,” she said. Mavis, Heather knew, always preferred working nights. She said there was less hassle with the brass and she could sleep in. “I hate mornings,” she told Heather more than once. Because she worked nights and Heather worked days, they rarely spent time together like they used to. “Had your supper break yet?” Heather asked, waving the bag with the pasties under Mavis’ nose. “Even if I did, you know darn well I’d say no just so I could sink my teeth into one of those,” she said, grabbing at the bag. “Are they Mickey’s?” “Who else?” Heather said. They were Mavis’ favorite and a sure way to sneak in a request for a favor. Heather hated being dishonest, especially with Mavis; she was so gullible… But it was her brother’s life at stake. “So what do I have to do to eat one of them?” Mavis said, pointing at the bag with the pasties in it. “Nothing, really did want to talk to you—pick your brain, as it were, about the latest homicide,” she said, watching Mavis’ face for a reaction. “You mean the purple feather murders? That’s what they’re calling them because of that damn purple feather that turns up with each victim.” “Do you think whoever it is thinks the feather is coy or is it snubbing their nose at authority or what?” “No one’s saying. It’s so strange I think it scares the guys that some woman—they’re pretty sure it’s a woman—that some woman hates men enough to do what she’s doing to these men,” Mavis said. “How many of the guys have been from the recreation league? Could that be the link?” “They aren’t all from the league and now that woman…

You know, purple feather, not

something a man would use, I wouldn’t think.” Mavis bit off the sentence like she shouldn’t have said it. “Does the Chief think she was murdered by the same purple feather murderer?”

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“Langdon Cruise does, and when it’s homicide, everyone relies on his expertise.” So Langdon Cruise wasn’t entirely a blow hard after all. He had some prestige, at least with the Chief if Mavis was reading it right and not just taken in by Langdon like all the rest. “What’s the possible motive? What’s the connection?” she asked. “They’re working on that. It would seem, other than the league, they aren’t connected at all,” Mavis said. “Was the girl dating someone from the league?” she asked. “Not that anyone can tell us.” Heather slid the bag of pasties to Mavis across the counter. “Any chance I can lay my hands on the evidence—no fingerprints or disturbing the stuff, I promise. I want to see if I can read anything from them.” Mavis glanced around the empty room, her eyes widened with excitement. “I could get in a lot of trouble for that,” she said, fidgeting with her key ring. Heather could see she was ready to agree if someone didn’t walk in the door in the next minute. “Promise, no one will know I was privy to them. You stay out at the window; if anyone comes, I’ll hide until they leave.” She eyed her friend. Mavis’ body language told her the struggle inside was causing her distress. Finally she jerked her head toward the door of the evidence room. “Okay, but hurry. If anyone sees you…” She let the phrase hang like laundry on a clothesline, unlocking the door for Heather to enter. She quickly shut the door and nudged Heather into the shelved locker type area behind the counter. She pointed out the shelves, small ink labels gave names and each had an extra tag that stated ‘purple feather’. “They really are calling them the purple feather murders?” Mavis nodded her head. “Yes,” she whispered. “Now hurry up. You’re making me very nervous.” The outer door clicked open and Heather ducked out of sight. Mavis quickly returned to the counter window. The detective handed her a box and began filling out the form she handed him as they listed the contents of the box. Heather listened from her secluded spot. Another murder. “Shelve this evidence with the rest of the purple feather murders,” the male voice said. Fresh evidence, still warm, would perhaps make it easier for her to read than the ones who had been here for a few days already. The detective left and

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Mavis returned with the new box of someone’s last moments on earth. She thought how morbid to be nearly salivating over trying to get in touch with someone’s life through their last breath. “I really should shoo you out of here. I have no business letting you tamper with evidence like this. What if you mess up clues?” Mavis said. “Relax, I told you I’ll be careful. Look, let me do my little ritual here and I’ll do a free reading for you next time you’re near the shop. What do you say?” Heather cajoled. She held her breath waiting for a reply. Mavis loved having a tarot card reading done for her. Heather hoped it was enough to get her a few minutes with the evidence of the purple feather murders. Mavis slid the new evidence box on to the shelf. “Okay, but only until I get the label made for the latest victim, then you’re out of here,” she said. Heather reached for a tissue to handle the contents of the box with, then decided instead on the thin plastic surgical type gloves provided for those who needed to handle the evidence in the room. She pulled the wallet from the box and opened it. She recognized the name in the wallet. Another one of the men from the Rec. League; she was sure this one was married with a nice family. A gray cloud floated across her vision and then quickly turned to purple. The shadow of a woman fogged by the haze stood facing toward her, but she couldn’t see a face, only an outline. Heather broke out in a cold sweat. If only she could pull the woman from the haze. See who she was. The cloud disappeared and so did the woman. Nothing else came to Heather’s consciousness. Mavis returned and stuck the name of the latest victim on the ledge and added the purple feather tag. “We should just buy a bag of purple feathers to label these shelves with. She sure is a busy woman. Okay your time’s up,” she said. “Get anything?” she asked. “Nope, dry run,” Heather lied. No point in telling her anything about the shadow in the purple haze. It only confirmed the color of the feather they already knew about. “I owe you a reading though. Stop by any time,” she said. Mavis said she would and looked relieved as Heather slid out into the hallway and away from the evidence room. Heather was a little angry with herself for taking advantage of her friendship with Mavis. She consoled herself by thinking of the help she may have been to the police if she could have ‘seen’ something. Angry that she couldn’t, she put her car in gear and headed home, hoping she could sneak in without disturbing her mother. She wasn’t ready to be grilled about what she was doing out at such an ‘ungodly hour’, she could hear her mother’s caustic rendering of the time of day. All she wanted to do was protect her brother from a similar fate of the other bodies of Rec. League players in the morgue. Heather was determined to become a presence in her brother’s life until they nabbed this

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purple feather killer. If she was near, maybe she’d see the purple aura that surrounded this woman. Was it her aura or something else? she wondered as she pulled into her side of the two car garage and hit the remote to slide the door closed again.

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Chapter Eleven

Heather pulled on a long blonde wig. The makeup she wore was okay for a blonde, but she switched her muted bronze lipstick for a pink shade that spoke blonde, at least to her. The blue outfit she had picked out was a never-worn hand-me-down from one of her mother’s rich friends. She always thought the dress a little too risqué for her, but it seemed appropriate for the blonde in the mirror. She lifted her breasts up and decided she needed some cleavage. It was either change bras or add a little padding. A friend had used silk scarves to good effect once; perhaps that would do for her too. Satisfied with her look, she grabbed a coat and her purse, a pair of sunglasses to disguise her identity further, and she was off. Heather didn’t want to take a chance that Langdon or Roy would recognize her while she was tailing them. She parked her car in a spot a half block from Candy’s Sweets, a nightspot her brother and his friends often frequented. First she would go in to see if Roy was there already. She had only been to Candy’s a couple times and had never been very comfortable there. Caged women bumping and grinding to the too loud music was reminiscent of the seventies’ disco era. The men leered at those caged bodies while girls on the dance floor did the same moves, some prettier and better dancers; they never got the attention of those same males. Must be the implication of a caged female, she decided. The air was a blue haze of cigarette smoke and flashing lights. It made her dizzy as she scanned the crowded bar and dance floor for signs of her brother. Soon she spotted him with Langdon and a few others who were regulars with the recreation league. They seemed content to be a guy group watching the action from afar. She slid into a booth on the far side of the room. The raised platforms of the booths gave her a clear view of the table where her brother Roy and his friends sat. She scanned the crowd wondering if the woman with the purple aura would even be visible with the flashing strobe lights, if she showed up. Heather was determined that if her psychic powers were of any use, she would use them to save her brother. Whoever was committing the murders seemed to be targeting the members of the recreation league or those with ties to them—except for that woman that had breezed through The Wizard’s before she was killed, or had a heart attack or whatever happened to her, oh yeah

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then there was that man….Carver. The police still were quiet about her case; it puzzled Heather that they never let the newspapers in on her story. A woman with a long blonde head of hair—resembling a slimmer Dolly Parton—and dressed head to toe in shades of lavender, plum and lilac, slithered over to the Rec. League table. Heather concentrated, trying to pull up an aura around her, but no luck. The strobe lights interfered—or was it the music? She wasn’t certain. The woman bent over the table to take something from one of the men. Then two others stood so the man could move out from behind the table. Heather thought, if I was one of those guys in the league, I would be extremely careful about being picked up by a woman right now. She had no way of knowing if the woman was somehow connected to the man, but from the looks and teasing the others gave him, she guessed not. She watched as the two made their way to the dance floor. The blonde wrapped herself seductively around the man. Heather couldn’t clearly see her face; it seemed was hidden by all that hair. She turned her attention back to Roy and Langdon. She was having a difficult time staying awake. Her brother may be able to go out nearly every night, play sports and still function every day, but she needed her sleep. Maybe some fresh air would wake her up. She could always keep an eye on the door from her car to see if Roy left with anyone. Or Langdon, she thought, nearly as an after thought. Why should she care if he picked someone up or not? Mavis thought he was brilliant. Most women drooled over him. That didn’t mean she was going to. He may be good looking and smart—and rich—but his personality sucked. She didn’t need to deal with his ego, she decided as she made her way around slick ice puddles to her car. Her head seemed to be clearing–it may have been the cloud of cigarette smoke that caused her drowsiness. She always had been allergic to its effects, ever since she quit smoking herself anyway. She watched the entrance for any signs of Roy leaving. A few couples did, but not him or any of his party that she recognized. Weeknights the place closed at eleven during the winter or late spring before summer tourist season began, and that made her happy. She could last another half hour, she told herself. If she hadn’t spent half her night last night at the police station evidence room gathering information, maybe she would be more alert tonight. A yawn engulfed her and she shivered, feeling a chill setting in. No matter how warm the days got, it was still winter and the evenings temperatures verified that for non-believers. She reached in the back seat and pulled the afghan that she always carried to the front. Wrapping herself in its toasty warmth, she snuggled into the front seat. Whatever made her think she was private eye material? Perhaps she watched too many Magnum PI reruns. The next thing she knew the warmth of sunlight heated her face. She jumped, alert and for a moment forgot where she was. She slammed the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “Damn,

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some lookout you are,” she said as she fumbled for her keys. Tearing the afghan off her she tossed it in the back seat and started the car, sliding it into gear. Her watch told her it was already seven o’clock. She had one hour to get home, get changed and open The Wizard’s. She had no idea if Roy or Langdon left with anyone. If they were safe or… She growled at her stupidity and floored the car as she raced down the street toward home. What would she tell her mother? She sure couldn’t tell her she was stalking Roy without explaining why; she didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily. It seemed she always had to explain herself to her mother. It would be easier if she moved out into her own place. No it wouldn’t. Her mom needed her company—well, maybe her mom just needed to take care of someone more than have company. Whatever it was, she couldn’t desert her. Heather wondered if there was some way to find out who the victims of the purple feather may have dated recently. Surely the police would have checked out that lead. Maybe she could get Langdon to talk about them. “Plan number two,” she whispered, trying to slip quietly into the house. “Busted,” her mother said with that look on her face that all mothers get. “Young lady, you have some tall explaining to do.” “I’m late Mom. We’ll talk tonight—promise. Wasn’t anything serious; I fell asleep in my car. Got to rush.” She grabbed a piece of toast and flew up the stairs to shower, change and race back out the door to work. Thank goodness she had ditched the wig before she came in. There would be no explaining that to her mother.

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Chapter Twelve

When Heather closed up The Wizard’s, all she wanted to do was go home to bed. The last two days had drained her of any reserves. Being up half the night to get into the evidence room at the PD, and then spending last night sleeping in her car about did her in. She promised her mother she would tell her about why she didn’t come home last night, but she wasn’t a child. So what if she chose not to come home? It wasn’t as though she had an all night liaison with some hunk, but of course her mother wouldn’t know that, would she? Could she believe she had raised a promiscuous child? Good grief! What was considered promiscuous nowadays anyway? Everyone lived together before they got married or so it would seem. Her mind floated over the previous forty-eight hours. All she got for her efforts was that woman’s shadow in a purple fog again. She never saw a person surrounded by a purple aura anywhere. Was it possible she was misinterpreting the vision? It puzzled her. Would reading the Tarot with the purple fog in mind produce an answer she wondered? As she turned in the driveway she remembered she had promised to go to dinner with Langdon. Damn, she was too tired to parry with him tonight. She needed to pick his brain about the evidence surrounding the murders, and why nothing was being said about the woman who died in the alley behind The Wizard’s. How could she bow out of dinner gracefully without angering him? Illness. She could fake illness. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was so tired staying awake was making her ill. “Hi Mom,” she said, kissing her cheek as she was busy stirring something delicious-smelling in a kettle on the stove. “Smells delish—what is it?” “Chicken Alfredo. So where were you last night all night?” “You are beginning to sound like an Italian mama,” Heather said. She took a fork out of the drawer and attempted to taste the contents of the kettle her mother stirred. Her mother swatted her hand away. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.” “Try me,” her mother said.

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“Mom, I’m thirty years old, nearly thirty-one. Why do you insist on treating me like a sixteen year old child?” “If you quit acting like one I wouldn’t treat you like one. How are you ever going to snag a good man to marry you if you ruin your reputation? You know the old saying ‘why buy the cow if the milk is free’.” She did know the saying; her mother must have used it forty-thousand times a year since she turned thirteen. “You’re old fashioned, but I love you. I would never do anything to ruin the family name. The honest truth? I was so tired I fell asleep in my car.” Before her mother could recover from that enough to begin another inquisition, she picked up the phone and dialed Langdon’s number. Her mother glared at her, mumbling something under her breath. “Hi Langdon. I’m going to have to beg off tonight. I think I’ve been bitten by that flu bug going around. Rain check? Sure, give me a call or stop by The Wizard’s. You too, bye.” She replaced the phone in its cradle with a sigh of relief. That had been easier than she thought it was going to be. “Langdon—you mean nice, solid, rich, got-a-good-job, comes-from-a-good-family Langdon Cruise, that Langdon?” “Yes, Mama—dinner. Nothing else. Simple dinner.” “Well, you could have told me so I didn’t go through all the bother with fixing this,” her mother said. You would have had to eat anyway she wanted to say, but instead said, “I’m home now. I’ll eat some with you. I really don’t feel very well. I’m so tired.” “A good meal will fix you right up. You’ll see. Go change and wash up.” There she goes, treating me like I’m two again. I just want to go to bed. She trudged up the stairs and pulled a pair of lime green sweats from her closet. She quickly undressed and slid into the familiar comfort of the jersey sweats. She eyed her bed. Five minutes. A five-minute nap before dinner was ready. She slipped the lap quilt over her and lay back on the pillow. She could hear voices somewhere in the fog of her consciousness, downstairs. It had gotten dark. Oh no, she must have fallen sound asleep. Her mother would be furious with her for missing her Chicken Alfredo that she ‘slaved’ over. “Heather dear,” her mother called from the foot of the stairs. “You have a visitor. Will you come down please?” Who in the world? She pulled her slippers on, ran her fingers through her hair and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. A gaunt face with dark circles under her eyes stared back at her. She hoped it

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wasn’t prince charming with the glass slipper waiting for her, for surely she’d frighten him off. Halfway down the stairs she recognized the visitor’s profile. His milk and honey voice bent on charming her mother into being his advocate. Running back up stairs was not an option as the fourth step from the bottom gave out its telltale squeak. Langdon turned, flashing her a smile that nearly stopped her heart. Get a grip, she mentally scolded herself losing her footing. Langdon sprang to his feet in time to keep her from falling face first into her own humble pie. He pulled her full length into him and stared down into her face, his gaze hypnotizing her momentarily. “You okay?” he asked. “I’m fine—very tired—feeling a little unstable on my feet, but fine.” She felt the burning rush of crimson wash up her neck and into her cheeks. “Land o’Goshen Heather, you scared the livin— Well, I’ll leave you two. I have dishes to do. Nice to see you Langdon, don’t be a stranger, you hear?” her mother said walking away, shaking her head. “Good to see you too Mrs. Highmark,” Langdon called after her, still not releasing Heather from his embrace. “Excuse me,” she said, pulling away from him. “Wouldn’t want you to catch the bug I have.” He followed her to the living room and picked up a thermos from one of the end tables. “I thought you could use a little of my famous chicken get-well-soup,” he said, handing her the container. What is it with chicken? Supermarkets must have a sale on it lately, she thought as she took the thermos from him and sat on the couch. “Thanks, you shouldn’t have.” “Go on, open it. Have a whiff. Guaranteed to put the starch back in your…” He didn’t finish the sentence but Heather had a million variations flash through her mind in an instant. Of course she could feel the blush rise again. She opened the thermos and the unmistakable chicken soup aroma assaulted her hungry, haven’t-eaten-a-decent-meal-in-days stomach. “It does smell delicious, thank you,” she said. “I better get going. Just wanted to drop that off for you. Hope you feel better tomorrow,” he said getting up, prepared to leave. Heather felt a pang; was it disappointment because she wished he’d stay, or maybe she was just insulted because he was leaving without waiting for her to ask him to leave? Her emotions were a rollercoaster of feelings. Maybe she looked so ugly and unkempt he’d never bother with her again. She wasn’t at all sure how that was going to make her feel. “Okay. I’ll return your thermos first chance I get,” she stammered.

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He kissed the top of her head. “Good enough. I can show myself out; you rest.” Just like that and he was gone. Heather didn’t know if she was furious or just plain hurt. She sat holding the chicken soup wondering why she felt so awful. Why she felt like she had lost her best friend. How could she ask him the questions she needed him to answer to try to keep the Rec. League from losing any more players to the purple feather murderer if she couldn’t figure out her own feelings?

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Chapter Thirteen

The bell above the door jangled its friendly welcome as Langdon entered the cozy interior of The Wizard’s. He watched as Heather extricated herself from under a glass-front cabinet where she had crawled in, and was washing the glass on the inside. He leaned over the counter as she sat on all fours, brushing stray hairs from her face. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he said. He could tell from her shocked expression she hadn’t heard him enter the store. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. Yes…oh yes, I am feeling better today. It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep and…” “And some good old-fashioned chicken soup can do to revive you?” he finished her sentence for her. She looked enchanting; a little disheveled and a lot rattled by his presence. “I have your thermos in the back. I’ll get it for you,” she said, getting to her feet as she slipped off the plastic gloves she wore to clean. “Thanks. Actually, that isn’t why I came. I was looking for a particular edition of an obscure title that crossed my path years ago.

I was so moved by it. I hoped—well…maybe with your

connections you could find the edition.” Heather stopped her trek to the back room and took the slip of paper from him. “I didn’t know John Douglas was writing back then. He’s the FBI profiler, isn’t he?” she asked. “I’m impressed, you recognized the name. I don’t know if he wrote the book, but there were references to him in it. Yes, he’s written before, but he’s only recently gained popularity.” “I love his books. I have everything that has his name on it—at least those that I’ve come across. But I don’t recognize this title. Nineteen-seventy isn’t exactly ancient history, but it would make him a little longer in the tooth than I had thought he was. She absentmindedly moved toward the counter where she had book catalogues stacked, her eyes fixed on the note. She pulled a tome from the stack and browsed its pages.

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“Do you believe it’s possible to profile the very identity of a criminal or do you suppose the family background, the experiences of that person push them to criminal tendencies? You know the old ‘there but for the grace of God go I,’ theory?” “You mean to tell me you’ve read John Douglas and still have your doubts?” “I guess you’re right. I think it would be so easy to become racist, slanting everything to match your personal prejudices,” she said. “There’s always that chance, whether you’re a profiler or not. That’s why our courts are set up the way they are. That’s why we have lawyers,” he said, watching her study the page. Her gaze never faltered. She had beautiful hands, he thought. He could almost feel them caressing his skin. What he wouldn’t give for those hands to be running down his torso rather than that dusty book page. “Don’t find it here. I may have to do some calling around. Are you in a hurry for it?” she said, looking back at him, her eyes the color and shape of large green olives. He could feel the blush rising in his face as he tried to conceal the other rise that was the result of his thoughts, of her hands stroking his body. “No. No rush. Wanted to see if I could get more of a handle on our purple feather lady. She’s definitely is a man-hater. What I can’t figure out is why the woman.” “She was murdered then and you do feel it was connected to the other purple feather murders?” “Off the record.

I shouldn’t have told you that much.”

He watched as she nodded her

agreement, making a motion of zipping her lips shut and tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder. “Scouts honor,” she said, holding up a three finger Boy Scout salute, or was it a Girl Scout promise. She seemed like the Girl Scout type. “There was a purple feather tucked into the book she carried. I would have thought that perhaps she had wanted to come to you about the book if she hadn’t raced out the back door instead.” Langdon watched her closely, trying to read her reaction, her take on the revelation. “What was the book title? Did she have the purple feather marking a page?” Heather asked. “Book title…of course,” Langdon said, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And perhaps a page number with the implied death threat.” They had just boxed the book, feather and all, with the rest of her belongings. They never thought the book might have marked a clue, only that it was a clue. “Oh, I don’t remember off-hand what the title was,” he said. “I’ll have to check and get back to you.” “In the meantime I’ll try to find this Obsession by John Douglas, hmmm. Call me in a couple days,” she said, pulling another book from the stack below the counter. She was totally absorbed in her

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search, effectively and completely shutting him out. He stood watching her, wondering if perhaps he dared ask her to dinner again. He wandered about the store looking at titles he’d never heard of, and classics he’d been forced to read at one time or another during his educational forays. Slowly, he worked his way back to the counter where Heather was still deep in thought and research. “How about dinner tonight?” he said after clearing his throat. She jumped in surprise, as though she had forgotten he was even in the store. “Sorry, I have a tendency to get one-tracked and side-tracked when it comes to research,” she said. “What was it you said? Oh, your thermos. I’m sorry.” She left the book and hurried to the back room before he could speak. She returned in a moment. “Thank you. It really was very good. Oh, by the way, I received this note in the mail today. I wanted your opinion on what I should do with it besides, perhaps, throwing it in the trash?” “This is a threat! This is daring you to continue meddling in the purple feather murders. What have you been up to that I don’t know about?” he said, anger replacing his thoughts of taking her to dinner. “Nothing, really. I can’t imagine who would think I’d been involved.” “Perhaps the same person that murdered the woman who came whizzing through your bookstore. Look at this. It’s all in purple. Doesn’t that tell you something?” “What that tells me,” she said, pointing to the note, “is that perhaps the person is an artist; or at least very methodical.” Her voice held an edge of defense to it. “I want you to stop whatever it is you are doing with this investigation. I want you to stay away from the recreational league players.” “You seem to forget that my brother is one of those players,” she said, anger showing flags like fire in her eyes. “I am trying to protect you. I think any threat should be taken seriously at this point. I will take this in and try to have it tested for fingerprints. Meantime, you stay clear, you hear me?” She turned back to her books and once again shut him out of her life. He wondered if she had even tasted the soup as he picked up the thermos preparing to leave again. He was glad she never heard the dinner invitation. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like having her company. “Thanks, call you in a couple days.” The bell jangled angrily as he yanked the door open and stepped out into the street.

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Chapter Fourteen

Men can be such jerks, Heather thought as she angrily swiped her rag down the countertop. Like it was her fault someone sent that note threatening her life if she didn’t stay out of the purple feather investigations. Who knew she was involved with them? Well…okay. In a town where gossip is their only recreation, probably everyone. It was impossible to recognize the handwriting since it was more painted with brush strokes rather than written with pen and ink. What a waste of time and talent, like the graffiti on the boxcars, pure art. Why weren’t those talents channeled into productive art? The composite note was beautiful in its design. Yes, Langdon thought her mind slightly askew, but the colors, the placement… That was no ordinary psycho’s note. That note had class art if you will. She would like it back to frame. Titles leapt out at her from the quiet empty store. Hostage or Psychotic Art, or even Troubled Waters. Maybe Purple Haze since every word was some shade of purple. Whoever it was definitely had time, patience and financial stability. She was beginning to think like the FBI profiler, John Douglas. Langdon’s request for some obscure book by him had prompted her subconscious to remember the way he dissected crime scenes and transposed them into profiles. Fingerprints on the note he had thought. But with the care given to the note’s design, Heather doubted the person would have left fingerprints. Langdon seemed to think the threat was serious.

What could she possibly add to the

investigation? Her attempts to read the victims’ belongings had failed miserably. Except for the penumbra of the woman and the purple fog that surrounded her, she saw nothing. She had that vision before, when she started dogging her brother and the other members of the Rec. League players that was the only change in her routine. Her thoughts suddenly slipped to the tall blonde propositioning one of the Rec. League players at Candy Sweets the other night. It was too late to call Roy and ask if the guy was okay. How would she dare ask that? He’d want to know how she knew about it. Maybe she’d say Langdon told her.

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The jangle of the door pulled her thoughts back to the present. Elinore Muich, starched black and white perfect, greeted her. Heather had nearly forgotten about her appointment for a tarot reading. She turned the sign on the door to closed, locked it and asked Elinore to follow her to the back room. “I must warn you I have never had a reading before so I have no idea what to expect.” “Let me assure you its perfectly painless,” Heather said, spreading the cloth over the small table. “Please, have a seat.” Elinore glanced around the small room as though she expected a crystal ball, magic carpets or gypsy trappings. Heather read the first-time visitors thoughts; they all seemed slightly disappointed at the ordinariness of her backroom. It was, first of all, her office. The business of The Wizard’s was conducted in its stark atmosphere. Tarot cards didn’t care about ambience; they were only clued for the person who was receiving the readings. But the looks were all the same, so maybe she should create a reading room to meet their movie-version expectations.

Maybe then they would take her more

seriously. She spread the cards in a fan on the table and asked Elinore to pick the cards. As she did Heather laid them out. They seemed a jumble; they seemed to be for several different people at once or at the very least, two. Heather felt resistance, she felt blockage. Was Elinore blocking her attempts? “Try to relax as you pick the cards. Think of questions you would like answered,” Heather said, trying to get Elinore to let the cards tell the story and not force them to comply to whatever it was she was trying to make them say. How would Heather relate what she saw to the woman whose cards turned up confusion and inconsistencies? How would she tell her she read a great business head and a terrible evil present in her persona? “I must be coming down with a cold or something. I’m having a most difficult time trying to read the cards.” “I’ve heard they all have a generic meaning that would fit someone merely trying to study the cards. Is that not true?” “It is, but the order they are turning up flip flops me from one interpretation to another, not settling on either.” Heather remained confused, unable to even discern if the problem was her or the woman she tried to read. “Would you be interested in trying this again at a later date? I’m afraid I am like a beginner, I have no reading for you.”

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“You needn’t worry on my account. I never believed in these things anyway. Perhaps that’s why you can’t read me. I can’t be hypnotized either,” she said with obvious joy. “What do I owe you?” she asked. “Obviously I can’t give you what you’re ready to pay for, so…no charge,” Heather said. “Here then, take this as a thank you for your time,” she said, handing Heather a twenty-dollar bill. “Would you be free for lunch one day next week? I would love to hear more about the Tarot. The way it should work. How you use it...those kinds of things. That is if you wouldn’t mind talking about it. I find the idea most fascinating.” Elinore’s mood had changed from somber and nervous to what Heather would almost be tempted to call giddy. She sensed a relief that perhaps she hadn’t been able to read the woman in the cards. They made plans for lunch next week. Heather opened the door to the jangled music of brass bells and Elinore Muich strutted out. “Next week Thursday then,” she said cheerfully. Heather watched out of sheer fascination, not any particular reason. The woman was a complete version of North and South poles. She had heard of those personalities, most recent in reference to Jekyll and Hyde, though not real individuals. She went back to the cards still lying on the table and sat in the chair Elinore Muich had only just vacated. As she studied the cards she looked at the fool—the zero—the two sides that can’t be reconciled. That appeared to be the exact truth of Elinore Muich. Her puzzlement then turned to herself. Had she projected her feelings of distrust of Elinore onto the cards? She knew that was a distinct possibility. Why did she dislike, or distrust this woman? Giving it to woman’s intuition didn’t seem like a prudent answer. There was something else she felt about Elinore; about her warfare, competition. It was as though she was at war with herself, her two personalities struggling against each other. And what of the Emperor? Visions of her against his male dominance pulled at her as a slight tug of the interpretation, the deflowering of the maiden against her will. But the emperor kept his lust in check and never did the deed—or so it was with the cards. Was it the same in Elinore Muich’s life or different? If different, by how many degrees? It was no use. The vision wouldn’t hold still long enough to make sense for her. She picked up the cards, placed them back in their box, folding the cloth where she laid them. Tomorrow was another day. She’d let her subconscious worry the bone if it chose to; her conscious self had a mother holding supper for her arrival and she dare not disappoint her again. Purple mysteries had occupied way too much of her time lately. That, and Langdon Cruise. News of the purple feather murders, slowly leaked by Chief Grueder to the press, provided enough

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stimuli for the town gossips to keep a steady buzz going in the cafés. Women were finding the seemingly revengeful motivation of the murders a fitting comeuppance for the male ego, while the men were rethinking their actions—at least that was the gamut of the conversations she over heard. She wondered how close the gossips were to discerning the truth of the whole mess.

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Chapter Fifteen

Elinore cringed at the harsh sound of the ugly brass bells that hung over the door of The Wizard’s Bookstore. It was enough to cause her to lose customers. Didn’t Ms. Highmark realize what a grating ugly noise those things made? She was already having second thoughts about allowing this woman to try to ‘read’ her, as the saying went. Well, she wanted to know how much this young woman was able to tell about her, or tell to the police. Therefore, she had to put up with a little inconvenience, a little slumming as it were. She watched as the petite woman turned the open sign on the door to closed and motioned to her to follow her to the back room. Elinore expected a crystal ball, brocade, heavy, red drapes with garish gold tassels and a swami turban for Heather Highmark. Instead, what greeted her was a small, neat and serviceable office with a small table, two chairs and a deck of tarot cards covered with a silk cloth. “Please have a seat,” Heather said. Elinore did as she was bid and wondered about the validity of the whole exchange. “How long have you been reading the Tarot?” she asked. “That’s a hard question to answer. Since Mr. Wizard began teaching me, oh dear…when I was still in high school.” “I find that very interesting. I thought you had to be born with a psychic side—or clairvoyance or something.” She watched as Heather smiled and shuffled the cards. “Oh, I doubt I have any special abilities. It just seems to work for me. Well, most of the time it works for me. Pick your cards please. We will start with the four cards you draw first.” She turned the cards face up as Elinore picked them. Elinore watched Heather’s face cloud, her eyebrows squinched towards her nose. “Is something the matter?” When Heather admitted she was having trouble getting a single reading from the cards, Elinore was relieved. So she was a fake after all. She did not need to worry that Heather would not put the police on anyone’s tail any time soon. She felt she should pay her for not being able to read her.

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Elinore’s relief was so absolute, she reached for her purse. She gave Heather a small bill and invited her to lunch. ‘Keep your enemies close’ she was always told. So you can know what they are up to. She was all for that. It was a small price to pay for firsthand information since she was connected, in a rather romantic way, to the homicide detective, if her observations were correct. The angry jangle of brass against brass ushered her out The Wizard’s door less than a half hour later. She felt good enough to go to Candy’s Sweets and put in a few hours in the cage. She needed to shluff off some of the stuffy, confining lethargy she felt being a CEO of a large and prestigious firm like Smith, Smith and Muich. She threw her head back in a laugh. “If only they knew what I did in my spare time.” She parked her car in a concealed spot between two buildings in the alley behind Candy’s, and slipped unnoticed into the cubicle Candy Sweet called a dressing room. At least each of the girls had their own private cubicle, which was a bonus. No one knew Candy was a man except the women who worked there and they were sworn to secrecy. What difference could it possibly make? she had wondered often, but never dared ask. She pulled her purple costume out of the locker along with a light lavender wig. As she redid her makeup she thought about the lives she led. Who would recognize her in any of them? She removed the business, light, no-make-up look and pasted, rubbed, smoothed, brushed and lavished on theatrical makeup. The heavier make-up would look good under the garish strobe lights chasing around the dance floor, dancing over the caged women bumping and grinding to the music— jungle music, her father would have called it. A laugh tore from her throat. Her father, the animal. The thought of what he had done to her was enough to start a purple haze drifting over her. Elinore turned into Lavender Paige, quickly putting the wig in place, and the haze disappeared. She liked dancing in the cages; it protected her from the lecherous males and afforded her space to manipulate the salivating men who watched. Not like the video games window where she could see and hear the men’s reactions. The men here were turned into cartoon characters under the flashing strobes, they weren’t real. Their jeers were drowned out by the music. The only thing they could do was to throw their money in the cages when the girls did something they liked. Not that she needed the money, but she needed the release, so she danced. When one of the men got too obnoxious or tried to get a date with her she would signal Candy and they would be escorted from the dance hall. Sometimes she would take the matter into her own hands and meet them on Main Street. That is, Lavender Paige would meet them on Main Street and then they never bothered her again. They never cheated on their wives or girlfriends again either.

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Now all she had to do was stay close to Heather Highmark and keep her from using her psychic powers against her. So far wigs and hats had managed to keep things in check. Elinore wondered about that. How long could she control the poison that brewed in her, and where and when had it started? She pushed back her chair and sauntered out into the deafening noise of the dance hall. A cheer from some regulars went up as she slipped into one of the cages and began gyrating, her thoughts on nothing but her body movements and the rhythm of the music. The jungle music. This one’s for you, Father. May you burn in hell...

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Chapter Sixteen

The foursome were becoming regulars at the bowling alley, it seemed to Heather. Sandy and Roy were inseparable, and Langdon always seemed to be the odd man out. So she was paired with him. In a way she felt it was good.

She wanted to stay on top of the purple feather murder

investigation, and this gave her a perfect excuse to do that. “Who was Max Quale dating?” Heather asked her brother as they watched Sandy deliver her bowling ball, perfect form, straight down the alley to a perfect strike. “No one,” Roy said. “He played the field. No attachments, so why not?” They gave Sandy a round of applause. “You mean he never dated the same girl twice?” Sandy asked, getting in on the tail end of the conversation. “Oh, I think he was all over that girl he met at Candy’s a while ago. You know the one, the blonde with the legs that came up to here,” Langdon said, striking a line across his forehead to indicate an extremely long-legged blonde. “You trying to get me in trouble here?” Roy said, nodding at Sandy. “You know I never notice another woman anymore, no matter how long her legs are.” He pulled Sandy into him and kissed the top of her head while he glared at Langdon. “We all knew what was going on, including Sandy.” “Can’t blame a guy for looking; as long as he doesn’t touch, right?” Roy said in his defense. “She was pretty unapproachable anyway. Don’t know how Quale suddenly struck it lucky with her,” Langdon said. “Yeah, he had all the charm of a gorilla. Does make a fella wonder what a woman like her wants.” “What would you say if I told you I wanted to try to read his apartment? See if I might be able to get a fix on who he saw, what happened to him,” Heather said. “Oh, come on Heather, not that crap again,” Roy said as he spun on his heel and picked up his bowling ball, prepared to best Sandy’s score on the alley.

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“Chief Grueder seems to think she has the gift to do it,” Langdon said in a rather mocking tone that matched Roy’s indignation. Roy let go of the ball and it headed down the alley, taking a funny jog at the end and leaving him with a split. “See what you did, threw off my concentration,” he said. “Sore loser,” Heather said. “Have to blame someone.” “No, I don’t think playing your paranormal games is going to solve a murder that has the police baffled. Ain’t I right?” he said, motioning to Langdon. “Question is: what can it hurt?” Sandy said. “For one, if the loony continues to hang around his apartment, she or he could target you next,” Langdon said, his concern wrinkling little lines on the sides of his eyes. “Why would he or she—and I thought the police already decided she—why would whoever it was hang around there if the deed was done?” Heather asked. “That’s just it. Without any idea of motive, how can anyone be sure the right person was targeted? It could have been an accident of fate that got Max instead of…say me or us,” Langdon said. “Maybe I could come up with motive, or at least gender, by visiting his apartment,” she said. “Okay, idea. How about if all four of us go over there and let you play your games?” Roy said. “There’s still a small matter of needing a key to get in,” Sandy said. “I’ll use my influence to have the super open the door,” Langdon said. Heather couldn’t believe she was hearing this. They were acting like juvenile delinquents, talking about breaking into a man’s apartment under false pretenses. So what if a homicide detective was providing the means, it was still wrong. Pangs of guilt for what she had started rode her, but when she considered that it might save her brother’s life, it was worth the risk, besides the dead man couldn’t care, and they weren’t going to remove anything. They returned their bowling shoes to the counter and piled into Langdon’s car, headed for Max Quale’s apartment. As they approached the block that his apartment was on, police barricades blocked the way. “What the heck?” Langdon said. He pulled up beside the squad car, fire engines visible from where they sat, hoses directed toward a blazing inferno. “What happened officer?” he asked, showing him his homicide id. “Not sure. Fire started—everyone’s out of the building—one of those old stick builts—she’s a total loss. They burn like kindling. They all should be condemned and torched before a bunch of people get killed.”

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Langdon thanked him and pulled his car over where they could park and watch the fire. “An unlucky coincidence,” Roy said. “Stranger things have been known to happen,” Sandy said. “Guess I’ve been a cop too long, seems a tad too coincidental.” Heather privately agreed with Langdon. She wondered if it would be possible to get a reading from the ashes after the place had cooled. “Do you think when they are done with their investigation to rule out or prove arson, or whatever the case may be, that I could walk through what may have been his apartment?” she asked. “I’ll check with Chief Grueder. He’ll probably agree, for you,” Langdon said with a slight hint of sarcasm to his voice. “Thanks,” she said. “We may as well head home,” Langdon said. “I’ll drop you and Sandy off at your car,” he said to Roy. “Then I’ll take Heather home. Is that all right with everyone?” he asked.

*****

Heather asked Langdon if he’d like to come in for a cup of coffee before he went home. She didn’t tell him she had questions she wanted to ask him about the murders and where their investigation was leading them. She wanted to know if there were any suspects; she was sure Langdon could be coerced into telling her. Catherine Highmark was delighted to see Heather bring Langdon home with her. “You are in luck. I just made a fresh cherry pie this afternoon. You two relax, I’ll quick brew a pot of coffee and get you a piece of pie. Ala mode?” she asked. “Sounds great,” Langdon said. “None for me Mom. It’s too late,” she said. “You would turn down fresh cherry pie?” he asked. “Of course, you’re so used to being spoiled, it probably doesn’t even matter to you anymore,” he said. Heather realized he was trying to make brownie points with her mother. She gave him a look she hoped came across as anger, but couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his blatant attempt to win her mother’s approval. Little did he know that her mother totally approved of one Langdon Cruise already. Okay, she thought. I can play your game.

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63

Mrs.

Highmark was gathering dishes, coffee cup and silverware when Langdon’s pager went off with a nerverattling beeping. “Could I use your phone to call the station?” he asked Catherine. “Sure, you go right ahead.” She motioned to the phone on the telephone stand in the living room. “Another murder; gotta go,” he said as he hung up the phone. “Can I tag along?” Heather asked. Langdon gave her a stern look, as though he was about to say no. “Chief Grueder would be forever grateful if I could read a warm murder scene and come up with answers,” she quickly added. “Okay, but you’ve got to promise to stay out of the way and don’t mess up any clues,” he said. “You be careful, both of you,” Mrs. Highmark admonished them, following them to the front door. “Same MO?” Heather asked as she slid into Langdon’s car. “Purple feather,” he said as he pulled the car into gear and backed out of the driveway.

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Chapter Seventeen

Squad cars with flashing lights, an ambulance and coroner’s van were an all too familiar sight lately. Heather shuddered as Langdon pulled his car in next to the chief’s. He flashed his badge to the officer who was keeping onlookers behind the barriers to the murder scene. “It’s one of yours,” said Chief Grueder “One of mine?” Langdon asked, a quizzical expression knotting his facial features into a concerned scrunch. “Yeah, another Rec. League player…least wise that’s what Dixie Janice is telling us.” “Dixie would know.” Langdon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not another recreation league player. It was beginning to look like someone was targeting the league. Who? Why? he wondered. “Glad to see you brought Ms. Highmark with you,” Chief Grueder said. “You getting any signals from all this?” he asked, waving an arm around the scene, looking directly at Heather. Worse than that. Heather could see that the victim was the same man that had been pulled onto the dance floor the night she was at Candy’s Bar, spying on the Rec. League, hoping to prevent Roy from becoming the next victim of the purple feather murders.

She wondered if Langdon would

remember. She couldn’t very well tell him that she saw the incident, but she had to make sure he made the same connection as she did. “Hi Chief Grueder. It really is becoming unsettling, all these recreation team members…” She let the sentence go unfinished. She had nothing to add that she dared say until she stood next to the victim and saw the purple feather. A mist of purple surrounded him. How could she be the only one who saw it? she wondered. “It looks like the same MO with the purple feather and all.” “It is. Are you able to get anything?” the chief said, his anxiety beginning to show a stoop in his shoulders, hands in his pocket clinking his car keys, deep lines scoring a furrow across his brow. When she saw purple foam coming from the victims mouth she blurted, “Purple foam, purple feather, purple haze.”

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“Purple what?” Langdon asked. She hadn’t stopped herself in time, now her question was, did she dare elaborate or would Chief Grueder think her weird? “Purple foam in his mouth, and the purple feather.” She pointed at the bagged feather that looked as though it had been pulled from a boa rope some dancers used. “What about the purple haze you mentioned?” Chief Grueder asked. “The one thing I’ve noticed with every one of the victims where the purple feather had been left, besides the purple froth coming from the mouth is…” Heather paused and looked from Langdon to the Chief and back again. “Yes,” they both said at once. “The strangest thing is this purple mist, or haze, that hovers around the victim’s body,” she said. She watched as their reactions mimicked each other from awe to disbelief to the chance of possibility. “Do you see it here, now?” the Chief asked. Heather nodded her head. “How long does it hang there? I mean, it must be around a while if you have seen it on every victim with the purple feather signature,” Langdon said. “What about the cut up guy in the Cadillac?” the chief asked, looking intently into her eyes as though he thought he could read the answer somewhere in the back of her mind behind her eyes. “The haze was there, but fading. I mean, it wasn’t as strong as the first one—the guy that staggered from the locker room at the rec. center—it wasn’t that strong. This one is nearly as strong. The death is recent.” Langdon and the Chief looked closely at the body. “No visible wounds. An autopsy would need to rule out heart attack or some other physical malfunction, but for all intents and purposes the guy looks like he just…died,” Langdon said. “Who was with him last?” the Chief asked Langdon. “We were all at a table at Candy’s Sweets. Some dame picked him up. Yeah, a long legged blonde. I can’t describe her except for her incredibly long legs,” Langdon told the chief. Heather thought that was her most distinguishable feature, unless you noticed the spider tattoo on the back of her left shoulder—but she couldn’t interject that, not without alerting them to her activities. Langdon, with his oversized ego, would surely interpret it as she was keeping an eye on him. She would need to find some other way to mention the tattoo that only showed when the woman’s blouse slipped off that shoulder as she danced. Heather didn’t get a good look at it but it appeared to be a black widow spider, the telltale little red diamond on its abdomen.

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“Why is it every time another murder occurs, your ranks dwindle, but you’re all there? Which one of you should we investigate—perhaps all of you?” Grueder said, an angry edge creeping into his voice. Langdon shrugged. It’s possible he’s had the same or similar thoughts, Heather mused. Was there a connection? Was it one of her brother’s teammates? Who was the blonde that had snared this man away from the group? Did she have something to do with his death? The questions pummeled her mind; maybe the questions wouldn’t let her try to ‘read’ the scene. It felt to her that this man did not die here; the scene was cold. It was as though he had died somewhere else and was brought here. “Is there any evidence that he died somewhere else and was brought here?” she asked. “Doesn’t appear to be any signs of him being dragged into the apartment—but we had no reason to look into that…until now,” Chief Grueder said. He directed the forensic crew to look into that possibility. Langdon looked at her with a question written all over his face. “What makes you think that?” he said. “The room is cold; there are no vibes here. I see him. I see he is dead and the purple haze hangs over his body, but I don’t feel what killed him. I don’t feel when he died. The atmosphere of a death scene has a degree of heat to it, maybe not heat but energy, as though the soul hasn’t left yet,” she said and then thought she maybe had said way more than Langdon was prepared to handle. “You really do believe—I mean, you really think you can read what happened to someone? I mean in this instance you can see the murderer or the murder?” The look on his face nearly made Heather laugh. He was all prepared to call her a liar and yet, his look of bewilderment was priceless. “I was born with the ability to see things that happened, or will happen. I can’t explain how or why? I just know what I see.” “Does that mean you can read minds too?” he asked. She shook her head. “That’s not what this is about. I have never tried to read anyone’s mind.” If I could, I’m sure yours would be so full of sexual exploits I would have to block it out to keep from becoming ill, she added silently. Another Rec. League player was gone and not one clue to lead them any closer to the murderer. Heather wondered about the blonde. She wondered where she might find her. Her face was very familiar, but then Heather knew a lot of faces; she dealt with customers everyday at The Wizard’s. She would need to run those faces through her mind and see if she could find a match, though she thought a blonde that tall, that striking, would surely ring a bell.

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Chapter Eighteen

“Remember you said your friend had left with the blonde—that night, the one at Candy’s?” Heather asked her brother as they sat having coffee in The Wizard’s backroom. “Had you seen her anywhere before? I mean, was she a regular there at Candy’s?” She watched as Roy’s face clouded over. A gloom seemed to drag all his features down like a heavy weight attached to loose skin. His usually bright eyes darkened under the weight of his long lashes, the corners of his mouth drooped, aging him while she watched. “Do you think she did this?” he asked as his gaze met hers. Heather shrugged. “At the very least she may have been the last one to see him alive,” she said. “Truth, blondes are the rule rather than the exception at Candy’s. It’s as though she grows them there. Must be ten or so new ‘blondes’, and I use the term loosely, every time I go in there.” “So you never saw her before?” Heather asked. “You would think I would remember those legs—but, I just don’t.” This was getting her nowhere. Someone must know about that woman, unless... “Do you think the blonde wore a wig?” A stupid question to ask a man, especially one who had just admitted her anatomy was more important to him than her face or hair. “You know, I thought when they were dancing… No, never mind; stupid thought,” Roy said. “Wait, tell me.” “Well, I never gave it much thought at first. But, I thought about all those fake blondes and had hoped to myself that she wasn’t a he/she.” “A what?” Heather asked. “You know, a cross-dresser. They’re pretty prevalent now days. A straight guy has to be very careful.” Heather had never given that possibility a thought. She should have. I wonder if Langdon or Chief Grueder thought of it. “Why did you think different—I mean, you seem sure now that it was a woman.”

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“Because of the spider tattoo,” Roy said. Heather waited. “She had one on her thigh, right leg, I think. Yes, right leg. And another on her shoulder.” Heather was amazed. He was more observant than she gave him credit for. She hadn’t seen the one on her thigh, but of course she was busy trying to memorize her face and read lips “No guy would have those on him.

That’s a woman thing.

Definitely a woman thing.

Butterflies, hearts,

spiders…yeah, a woman,” he said. Heather watched as he worked out the answer to his own satisfaction. And she had to agree, the black widow spider would be more of a woman thing. Roy got up to leave. “I better get to work. I’m stopping by Mom’s for supper tonight. She invited Sandy and me. You gonna be there?” he asked as Heather walked with him to the front of the store. “I was planning to be. It’ll be nice to have some company for a change. It’ll keep Mother’s attention focused away from my lifestyle for a change.” They both laughed. Heather knew Roy knew what she was talking about. Their mother was constantly on the lookout for mates for her children. She wanted grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them, as she said almost daily. Another customer entered the store as Roy was leaving. “See you at seven or so,” Roy said. Heather got busy with her day and let thoughts of the blonde with the black widow spiders float around to surface at odd moments here and there throughout her day. The face of that woman was someone she had seen more than once, she was positive—but where?

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Chapter Nineteen

Heather was shaken by the latest murder, certain that the blonde was involved. Whether she murdered Collier Downs or not, she was present of that Heather was positive. The purple haze that had surrounded all the other bodies was present. No one else could see it and that didn’t surprise her, but it was there—it was the same murderer. The blonde was a clue, but who, where, and how were questions she could only noodle around in her head. The cards would help her sort out what was in the air, her feelings. Heather unfolded the red silk cloth and gently shuffled the cards, calming herself by monitoring her breathing. She had formed the question in her mind, but she knew from experience writing it out kept her on track in the right frame of reference. This was normal routine. Today, though, she needed a different kind of reading because she was unsure of the questions she should ask. She needed to be open to all possibilities. As she began placing the cards in the Celtic Cross shape, Mr. Wizard hovered in the background as he often did when she did readings. She had decided to do an open reading rather than limit herself to the questions she had written. Her intuition told her this was what she needed more than the narrow focus of her questions. She said aloud, “I welcome a message of wisdom and open myself to receive the guidance that I most need at this time.” She kept her mind open and receptive as she shuffled the cards again. Her mind became as empty as her grandparent’s farmhouse. She could sense the way summer breezes flowed through the open windows of her mind, like those of the windows in the farmhouse. Lace curtains billowing gently, creating a freshness, a peacefulness she had forgotten had existed way back when she spent her summers there. Heather tried to step back from the images on the individual cards. She tried to see them in a wider context, absorb the spirit of the message. She could hear Mr. Wizard encouraging her from the background. ‘Allow it to guide you in a general way’ he said to her mind. He didn’t speak the words out loud; it was a mind transfer as he’d done before. The wheel of fortune: movement, a turning point, floated through her mind. The moon: illusion, justice; nine of swords: worry, guilt, anguish; she had felt those emotions over her brother and she had to admit, Langdon too. She let those thoughts flow freely from her mind like a mountain stream, moving swiftly in and out.

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The two of swords reminded her that avoiding her feeling with regards to Langdon was causing a stalemate, a blockage. Suddenly, she saw a beaver dam in her mountain stream. She inhaled deeply and willed her mind to open. Let the gentle breeze of intuition blow through. It was no use. The beaver damn, the image of Langdon refused to dislodge. She pulled the cards in and cleared them. Shuffled and replaced them in the folds of the silk cloth and back into their wooden box. Mr. Wizard shrugged and vanished. She had wanted to ask him some questions, but it was too late. She knew once he vanished she couldn’t call him back. She would have to wait for him to return on his own. Turning out the lights she exited through the rear door of The Wizard’s Bookstore and Apothecary. Since that woman’s death in the alley, she was very nervous about leaving through the back door, especially late at night. She checked up and down the alley and saw no one. A cloud slipped across the full moon casting an ominous shadow on the alley. The glow from the bare bulb over the door and the moonlight created a paranormal grey-green light. She stepped quickly from the doorway into the alley and hurried toward the parking lot where she had left her car. All her senses were alert for the slightest movement, sound or feeling brushing against her consciousness. She pounced on the car door like a frightened panther, unlocked it and struggled to get inside. Her purse caught and she had to pull back out of the door to free her purse in order to get in. Her mind wrapped around her fear like a rubber band clutched around her middle. Once in the car she turned the key and locked the door in one motion. “You sure are becoming a scaredy cat, paranoid, basket case,” she said, laughing nervously at herself for coming unglued. It was okay to be on the alert, she told herself, but she was bordering on schizophrenia. The road home was nearly deserted. The few cars she saw seemed to have the same singleminded purpose as she did, getting home after a long, hard day. The sinister thoughts she had been having seemed to dissolve in the rhythmic swoomp, swoomp of the car tires on the asphalt. By the time she pulled into her mother’s driveway her frazzled nerves were soothed. Quietly she let herself in and tiptoed up to her room. Tomorrow she would contact Chief Grueder again and see if he had any new leads to the purple feather murders. Right now, she needed sleep. She didn’t take time to brush her teeth or wash her face. Heather slipped into her oversized T-shirt and crawled into bed. She began dreaming before she could think to fall asleep. Dark figures were chasing her. She couldn’t escape, but they couldn’t quite reach her. She rounded a corner and saw Langdon—he was in grave danger. Some one was about to… She didn’t know what, she could only feel a deep sense of

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foreboding. At the same time images of Roy in danger appeared. She sped in an attempt to save him. She couldn’t reach him. Suddenly, bars fell out of the sky and encased her in a freestanding prison. She couldn’t reach Langdon or Roy. She had no voice to warn them, someone was shooting poison darts at them. She shook the bars furiously. A groaning noise woke her. It was then she realized it was her own voice. The nightmare had ended for now, but it left her with a frightening sense of something horrific happening to her brother, something she was powerless to do anything about. She hoped when she spoke to Chief Grueder tomorrow he would be able to shed some light on the murders. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She paused at the window on her way back to bed—the gnarled branches of the old elm outside her window looked like some macabre monster out of some Bgrade horror movie. She shuddered and hurriedly crawled back into bed. Perhaps sleep and a more pleasant dream, she thought, pulling the covers up tight under her chin. Chief Grueder had better have some leads soon.

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Chapter Twenty

The bell jangled, sounding sinister rather than the cheerful greeting Heather always associated with its brass tune. She looked up from her study of her notes from the reading she did for herself last night to see Chief Grueder’s paunchy form amble through the door. “Got your message you wanted to talk to me,” he said, closing the door behind him with a ching changle of brass. Chief Grueder was the father figure, or maybe uncle, Heather never had. His eyes twinkled with love and laughter when he wasn’t being Police Chief Grueder. Now, his face wrinkled with signs of concern. Since she had been helping with police investigations they had grown very close; he always worried about the stress being clairvoyant caused her. That look was on his face now. “A phone call would have been okay,” she said, giving him a hug. “You look worn out.” “This purple feather serial killer has almost made me seriously consider early retirement. The department is getting flack from all over, from the mayor to the governor,” he said. Sadness—or was it worry?—aged him. “Would a cup of herb tea help?” she asked. “Sounds wonderful. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Heather set about putting two cups of water in the microwave to heat as she talked. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the blonde was that had sunk her claws into Collier Downs the night he died. Her face is so familiar—it’s almost like I know her.” “You saw her face? You saw her hit on Downs?” Chief Grueder asked. Heather had forgotten until the words were already out of her mouth that no one knew that she had been at Candy’s the night Collier had left with the blonde. She had been at Candy’s keeping an eye on Roy and Langdon. Spying, they would have called it. “It wasn’t spying,” she said aloud. Chief Grueder’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropped open. She waved him off. “I was keeping an eye on Roy. I’m worried that he might be purple feather’s next target.” “Whoa, back up,” Chief Grueder said, raising his hands in surrender. She set the tea down in front of him, put sugar and creamer containers on the table and slid into the chair across from him. “I didn’t say anything before about being there because…well…because Roy would be furious if he thought I was baby sitting him. Those are the exact words he would use too.”

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“Okay, so you kept quiet to protect your butt. Didn’t they…I mean, weren’t you worried that they would see you?” “I wore a disguise. Blonde wig, dark glasses, and clothes I would never wear out in public.” Chief Grueder laughed a hardy laugh that erased some of the stress clouding his dark eyes. “And the purple haze?” he questioned as he swallowed a gulp of chamomile tea. Purple haze. How would she explain that to Chief Grueder with out sounding like someone whose grip on reality was slipping? “You understand that some people can see other people’s aura radiating around them, don’t you?” she began cautiously, watching his expression closely. He nodded. “I’ve read about that since getting to know you,” he said. “So, this purple haze is an aura?” “Not exactly. You see, every victim so far...” She wondered how she could explain what she saw, or if she should. After coming this far, there was no way out, no turning back. Chief Grueder reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. “Look, I know you see things others don’t. That doesn’t make you crazy in my book. You have a gift, a talent. What you tell me is between us. If it needs explaining somewhere down the road to the media, you let me worry about that.” Heather swallowed a deep breath of relief. “Thank you for understanding,” she said. Chief Grueder patted her hand. “Go on, tell me what you see,” he said. “I see the victims surrounded by a purple mist, a purple haze type fog.” “All of them? The same haze?” “I know this will sound nuts but the truth is, every single victim that had the purple feather with the body, and the purple froth coming from the mouth, also showed a purple haze hovering over the body with a woman’s shadowy face in it. I’m aware no one else could see it; that is why I never mentioned it. But it’s there, as sure as there is a cloud in the sky. I can’t explain it; I can only tell you what I saw. A fog; a mist; I choose to say haze because I can see through it. You know how a mist hangs over the river when the river is warm, the air above cool, just cool enough to hold the fog-misthaze above it? You can see the river, you can see the shoreline reflected in it—and you can see what’s above, but not always clearly? That’s the haze that hovers over your purple feather murder victims “It seems the longer they’ve been dead the smaller the field of this mist or haze, but it’s always there, so far at least.” “Do you think it’s because of the way they were…the way they died? Or is it the aura of the murderer?” Chief Grueder stumbled over the words; he seemed unsure of exactly what he was saying.

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He’s not sure if what they were discussing was a phenomena or a paranormal aberration, Heather thought, his confusion apparent with his obvious trouble in phrasing what he was thinking or feeling. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I thought perhaps if I saw someone with a purple aura, though that normally wouldn’t be the color of evil or menace, it might lead me to our killer though.” “So far no purple aura?” “No not even blue with edges of purple. For instance, that blonde that picked up Collier Downs. Her aura was such a dull shade. I’d say the colors of sludge gray-green, murky brown sludge all swirled together with black flecks dotting it.” Heather thought about the other things she sensed from that woman. It was like she was damaged at some point in her life—nearly soulless. She knew those types were passionless; they feel nothing. Not love or hate, not compassion or remorse. A perfect serial killer type… The phrase leapt into her mind like a black panther on its prey. “We have to find that blonde,” she blurted out. Chief Grueder’s eyes widened. “Did you see her murder Downs?” he asked. “No, no I didn’t. But her aura, her… She’s the one. I know it.” “You realize you may be in as much danger as the recreation league players simply because of your relationship with Roy and Langdon,” Chief Grueder said, lines reappearing in little creases beside his eyes. “I wish I had enough manpower to put a tail or every Rec. League member and you.” “Don’t you worry about me. Remember my talent for precognition.” “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid and you won’t go anywhere alone after dark.” Heather agreed with her fingers on one hand crossed behind her back. That wasn’t really a lie then, she told herself as she had ever since childhood when it was a game they made up. “I need to get back and get some men questioning everyone we can locate that might have an idea who that blonde woman was that night. All we really have to go on are the spider tattoos Langdon and Roy saw. But, it’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” he said. After he left, Heather’s mind went into overdrive. She thought about their conversation while she compared the notes she had made on last night’s tarot reading. A sudden thought hit her. Illusion jumped out at her as though there were no other cards in the reading but the moon sign. What if…what if the blonde wasn’t blonde at all, but wore a wig? What if the tattoos were the removable decal type sold everywhere now days? All their clues would be moot. With so many ways to change your appearance now days with bust and derrière padding, wigs that look so real—even contact lenses to change the color of your eyes. What you see is not necessarily what you get. It reminded her of the chameleon paint on vehicles that

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Eyewitnesses have always been deemed

unreliable by investigators they say; it would seem you don’t dare trust your own eyesight let alone be a witness to it. Heather picked up the phone and dialed Sandy Sonner’s number. Maybe she could help Heather keep an eye on Roy for safety’s sake. She was very much in love with him and she was brilliant, nearly clairvoyant herself. I wouldn’t mind having her for a sister-in-law, she thought as she waited for Sandy to answer the phone.

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Chapter Twenty-One

The headlines of the Cross Point Daily shouted The Purple Feather Killer Strikes Again. Elinore Muich picked up the paper from the drug store on her way from the parking ramp. She got the morning amenities with Penny Drews out of the way, set her on a list of tasks for the day, and then stretched back in her leather desk chair to read what the reporter had written about the ‘Purple Feather’. She chuckled. Ingenious piece of work. That boa with the purple feathers was the perfect tie. The pictures on the front page were tastefully black and white. Eventually they’ll move into the twenty-first century and actually get color. It would be so much more interesting to see those murders in color, even the purple feather, not some dull shade of gray-white feather, but a true lovely shade of purple. As she poured over the pictures she saw Heather Highmark with Langdon Cruise at the scene of the murder. “What is she doing there?” Elinore’s blood pressure rose until it threatened an instant migraine. She told herself to calm down a stroke would solve nothing. Proceed with caution. Deep breathing and a couple of Ibuprofen brought her approaching headache under control. She read the accompanying article. “So they know nothing. They haven’t a clue,” she said, folding the paper so the picture of Langdon and Heather was all that she could see. She took a red pen and slashed a big X through Langdon. “Soon,” she said with an evil cackle. “Soon your involvement in the next investigation will be as the victim.” She took the red pen and drew multiple circles around Heather. “What did you see, dear, with your psychic powers? If your revelations were anything like the reading you gave me last week, you are the least of my worries. But we had better check you out farther.” Elinore pushed the button on the intercom. “Get me Heather Highmark on the phone. No, on second thought, schedule an appointment for me to meet with her. Tell her it’s for another tarot reading,” she said. “Will do,” the quaint, syrupy voice of Penny cooed.

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She picked up the paper again and glared at the couple in the doorway of Collier Downs’s apartment. “Well, Collier, your worries are over. Now, if you had stopped at the drug store for proper protection, I might have spared you. But no, you were only concerned with your own fulfillment. Dirty little man,” she said with a snarl. Penny Drews buzzed Elinore. “An appointment tonight after she closes The Wizard, about nine if that’s okay.” Elinore agreed. It would be good to get this bit of business out of the way. She was sure Heather was harmless. Merely an overactive sense of her own abilities as a result of old Chief Grueder’s big-city-wannabe-cop attitude, billing her as a psychic of any validity. There was little evidence for truth in his reliance on Heather so fully. However, Elinore did need to forge a friendship with her if she hoped to get near Roy. Lately, he had been hanging awfully tight with that Sandy Sonners woman, but she was a pushover. She wouldn’t be any competition for a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it, Elinore thought to herself. Roy Highmark was not the same male type as others in that recreation league. He appeared to have at least a modicum of respect for women. She would see if he was worth sparing before she… Elinore let the thought float away as she drove to her black and white executive apartment suite. She preferred the Vintage Orchid Suites, but when she had Smith, Smith and Muich work to do, she had to have the stark familiarity of a black and white business atmosphere to accomplish it. Roy would have to wait for another day. She would get her business done before seeing Heather at The Wizard’s later that evening, and then the night would be her time to use as she chose.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Reading through his notes from the murder scene about Collier Downs, a chill ran down his back. Langdon accepted his thoughts about Collier and let them flow through untouched. He never liked Collier—the exasperating little twerp. He had two modes; bragging unceasingly, or complaining in a never-ending stream of whiney diatribes about how others mistreated him. While he couldn’t exactly feel remorse for Collier, “No one deserves to be murdered,” he said. “What’d you say?” Dixie asked, looking up from the typewriter where she was typing up the incident report from her notes. “This purple feather murderer…why the recreation league members? Does the purple feather mean it’s a woman, or is that meant to throw us off track?” he said, not looking up from his own notes. He shuffled the papers on his desk and raked his fingers through his thick head of sandy blonde hair. “What about the woman the killer targeted? She didn’t seem to be connected to the Rec. League.” “True, but was she connected through something we aren’t seeing to the others?” Dixie asked. “That’s a good point. We never explored that angle before. Do you want to check that out? Who were her friends, family, and the connections that might overlap with the Rec. League victims,” Langdon said. “I’ll get right on that,” she said. “Do we know anything at all about the blonde?” he questioned. “Anybody see her car? How did she get to Candy’s Sweets? It would be a damn long walk from town.” He checked his language. Shouldn’t have used…but this case frustrated him more every day. It was like the murderer was invisible. “Anyone who saw her arrive? They took Collier’s car back to his house apparently, because it wasn’t left at Candy’s,” Dixie said. “Unless he got a ride there with someone else,” Langdon said. “Any of the Rec. League guys pick him up to bring him there?” Dixie asked. “That’s fast becoming a real short list,” he said. “I don’t think so. I’ll double check with the others to be on the safe side.”

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Dixie Janice took her notebook, slipped into her shoulder holster and pulled on the beige leather jacket she wore to cover the gun. Before she left she turned and said, “You watch your back partner. You’re one of the Rec. League players, remember?” Langdon remembered. He thought of little else when he wasn’t thinking about the latest murder victim, where they were from, and anything else in their background that might link them together. Or to him or any of the other players. Besides each other, who did they all know, or turn into a mutual enemy? He waved Dixie off. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” But could he any better than the rest of them with an unknown assailant? They had all been caught with their guard down. How? Why? The intercom buzzed. “Chief Grueder would like to see you in his office,” the voice said. Langdon could tell the chief was in no mood for bad news when he walked in. If people were able to simultaneously combust, Chief Grueder would be an appropriate candidate. His face was red and his hair stood in tufts where he had raked his hands through it as he had a tendency to do when he got frustrated. Something which happened regularly since this whole mess started. He motioned Langdon in and to a chair in front of his desk. “We’re doing the best we can Governor,” he said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I will,” he said and made the motion of throwing the phone across the room before quietly replacing the phone in its cradle. “That was the governor,” he said, nodding toward the phone. “If we don’t get somewhere with this case soon, my ass is grass and he’s the lawn mower.” Langdon saw the perfect opportunity to get what he wanted. “If we put a tail on the remaining members of the recreation league team, we may have a chance to catch this killer.” Chief Grueder stood up and walked to the window; he focused long and hard, not really noticing whatever was out there. Langdon could nearly hear the wheels of his mind at work, but he didn’t like the scowl that worked its way across his face. Grueder spun from the window. “Considering you were with the latest murder victim to within an hour before he was murdered, that point seems moot.” Langdon felt the sting of the chief’s words. Was it his job to take everyone of the Rec. League home at night? What was he—a babysitter? “As far as I’m concerned,” the chief continued, “the rest of you are all suspects.” Now he was grabbing at straws, Langdon thought. “You realize what you just said? Why haven’t you suspended me then, pulled my weapon and badge?” Langdon said, glaring at Chief Grueder.

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“None of our league would murder another team mate. We’re all friends for crying out loud.” The air between them became heavy enough to slice into slabs—morgue slabs. Langdon’s mind filled with visions of the Rec. League players on morgue slabs lined up like so much cordwood. He realized the pressure Chief Grueder was under was causing his tirade, but it didn’t soothe Langdon’s ego. “We’ve been busting our asses over this. I still think a tail is the only way. None of the victims are connected except those that are connected by being part of the league. And that woman who was killed by the Purple Feather, none of the guys even knew her.” Chief Grueder slumped back into his desk chair. “I’m getting too old for this job,” he said, rubbing his face with his hands. Langdon looked at the deep folds creasing the chief’s face from nose to jowls and the feathered lines on the outside of his eyes; his forehead was a crinkled mass of wrinkles. He seemed to have aged a decade since the purple feather murders began. “We can’t afford a tail for every one of these guys, and that’s the bottom line,” Chief Grueder said. “The good news is we know how the killer kills.” Langdon was curious. Until now there were no wounds, at least none forensics or pathology had found. Yet, they all had some weird poison running through their bodies that shut down all the vital organs within seconds of entering the body.

Since each death was surrounded by different

circumstances except for the purple froth coming from the mouth and the purple feather, there was no common denominator to deduce reason from. “Good news?” he said, his eyebrow raised at the poor choice of words. “Remember the old movies: Wild African tribes, voodoo dolls, poison darts and the like?” Chief Grueder asked, raising his bushy grey eyebrows. “Yeah,” Langdon said, wondering what that could possibly have to do with this. Personally, he thought voodoo dolls were a joke no rational human being would give a moment’s thought. He instantly worried Heather would be implicated because of the tarot cards and herbal medicine. “Poison dart,” Chief Grueder said. “Someone blows a poison dart into their neck, at the base of the skull. Such a tiny pinprick no one would ever notice—except Collier Downs is allergic to just about every metal known to man.” The chief paused to let Langdon digest what he had said. “So, even though he died nearly instantly, he had a reaction to the metal tip of the dart?” Langdon asked.

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“Not only that, but because of the meds he was on to counteract contact with other substances he was allergic to, he lived longer. Maybe only a minute—five at the most. His system hung onto the poison and forensics hopes they will be able to tell us exactly what it was soon.” “That’s amazing. That’s absolutely amazing, so maybe we’ll be able to trace where it came from, who bought it.” Langdon’s heightened state exuded hope and at the same time fear that Heather had unwittingly become a pawn in the serial killer’s game. It would be unwittingly he was sure; Heather wouldn’t be a… He couldn’t finish that thought. How could he be such a skeptic? Had being a detective really hardened his faith in people that much? Heather certainly wasn’t the killer, but would she be a prime suspect? His mind raced. What if…? No, that was too awful to think. But if it was a possibility, it would be a perfect reason for him to be assigned as a tail to her. “We should know something by tomorrow morning. Meantime, I want you to keep an eye on Heather Highmark. If it involves something from her shop, that could be…well, just keep an eye on her,” Chief Grueder said. Langdon knew that Chief Grueder and his wife had a special attachment to Heather. He had forgotten about that until now. Langdon left Chief Grueder’s office and headed straight to The Wizard’s Bookstore and Apothecary. He wouldn’t dare tell Heather of the concerns for her safety, but maybe he could convince her to have dinner with him. Maybe after she does a tarot reading for him, she would be willing to have dinner. That would be an excuse for him to stick around, at least for today.

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Chapter Twenty-Three

If you were looking for a quiet friendly atmosphere to eat, The Café was the place to be. The cheery green, gingham checks enhanced with sunflowers and roosters were the perfect mix of country charm and hospitality in a cold concrete world. Since Heather came here often, most of the regular crew knew her. They also knew she preferred a corner booth in the back. She would come and sit for hours to read or write, and was totally out of the way, undisturbed except for coffee refills. The waitress ushered her through the dining room to the back corner booth. “I’m expecting a friend. In case she doesn’t see me, would you escort her back here please?” “Absolutely,” the waitress said. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait? Coffee, tea?” “I think coffee and a glass of water please,” Heather said. Restaurant coffee was always too strong for her tastes and too hot, so she ordered water to use the ice cubes to thin and cool her coffee. Besides, she preferred to drink water with her meals. An old quirk instilled in her many years ago when she was a client at a weight-loss center. She shuddered. That seemed like another lifetime ago. For sure, she was a different person then; chubby, shy, retiring. What has changed besides her size? Owning your own business does compel you to be more outgoing, more assertive, but she knew she still bordered on shy. Sandy Sonners stood in the foyer of The Café, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness after the brilliant glare of the sun outside. Heather waved to her. The waitress caught the wave and directed Sandy to the booth where Heather waited. She ordered ice tea and the waitress left a menu for her to peruse. “I’m glad you came,” Heather said after the waitress left with their orders. “It sounded urgent,” she said. “You said you thought Roy was in danger.” “I’m not sure, but with all these Rec. League players being murdered, I worry for his safety. Course if he knew I was saying anything, he’d go ballistic.” “No reason to tell him that I can think of. So, what’s your hunch?” Sandy asked.

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“I don’t have anything terribly concrete to base this on, but there is no other connection that I can tell between these guys other than they all belong to the recreation league.” Heather watched as Sandy seemed to be running that information through her head. A puzzled look crossed her face. “There isn’t a person that they’re all some how connected to?” Heather shook her head. “Not that they’ve been able to find so far.” “What about that woman who was murdered?” “Her only link is the purple feather,” Heather said. They ate in silence for a few minutes. “What does Langdon say?” Sandy asked. “Being lead homicide detective, and connected—he hopes—romantically to you, he would probably share more information with you than he should.” Heather was a caught off guard by Sandy’s bluntness, but she was right on target with her observation. “He’s as baffled as we are. He would like to put a tail on everyone. Chief Grueder says budget constraints won’t allow it.” Heather pushed her plate to the side and drew her coffee cup into the center of her placemat, refilling it from the carafe the waitress brought. “So, you want me to spend as much time as humanly possible with Roy, if I get your drift?” Sandy said. She leaned back in her seat and lit a cigarette. “Do you mind?” she asked, nearly as an afterthought to Heather. Because she desperately needed Sandy’s help, she acquiesced and just shook her head no, though she minded very much. She had quit smoking herself but never imposed her preferences on anyone else. “I don’t know how else to do it. I’ve been toying with the idea of keeping Langdon around more since he also could be a target. Two sets of eyes are better than one, though I’m not real happy with the idea of spending more time with the likes of him.” Heather wasn’t sure if she was attempting to convince Sandy or herself that she wasn’t happy about spending more time with Langdon. It was the feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought about him that threatened to override what her mind was saying to Sandy. He loomed large in her dreams as he came galloping in on his white charger just as the purple feather floated down out of the ether. He whisked her up into his arms just as the poison purple dart flew in her direction, and they raced away in the nick of time. A dream was just that, a dream. There was no white knight in her real world. She knew that. Sandy sipped on the last of her iced tea. “Tell you a secret. That assignment—keeping tabs on Roy—may be exactly what our relationship needs. He’s been trying to get me to go on a trip to the Porcupine Mountains, Lake of the Clouds, and a bunch of other places we could get to in a weekend. I may have to suggest that now would be a good time,” she said, smiling broadly.

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“I wouldn’t dream of putting you in a compromising situation, but it’s the only way I know to protect my brother. Besides, I kind of like the idea of having you as a sister-in-law,” Heather said, reaching across the table to lay her hands on top of Sandy’s as they encircled her nearly empty glass of ice tea. Sandy blushed. “He’s never mentioned a permanent relationship yet. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been holding out. I consider this a good cause though.” “Men. Sometimes they need a gentle nudge, a good push, or a swift kick to get them to act,” she said and they both burst spontaneously into heartfelt laughter. Heather could picture Sandy as a member of their family. She had such similar likes and dislikes to Heather, and she was fun to be with. Way better than some of the flakes Roy had attached himself to of late. They chatted about other things and made plans to go bowling as a foursome next Tuesday night after work. Heather followed the path down by the river after she left The Café. It was always so quiet. The trickle of water over the stepping stone rocks that formed a gentle waterfall always gave her a sense of tranquility. She usually could sort out any problems she had, or find the answers to her questions. This time she concentrated on her visions of the woman who kept appearing in the purple haze over the murder victims. Something told her she should go to the cemetery and visit the graves of the victims. Perhaps her answer was there. She decided tomorrow she would visit those graves. Would she see the woman? She could only guess. But she was absolutely sure now that the killer was a woman. Was she the blonde woman at Candy’s that left with Collier Downs the night he was murdered? Oh how she wished she could place that face.

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Langdon wasn’t totally happy with Chief Grueder’s solution to the Rec. League but, at least he was legitimately allowed to tail Heather. Protecting her was his goal anyway. He could enlist her help with Roy by saying he needed to be watched. Then he’d be tailing the two people who meant the most to him with the chief’s blessings, unknown to him. “I’m not at all certain that Heather could be a victim because most of the purple feather murders are men, but I don’t like taking chances with that young lady. She is too close to the Rec. League; she could be in trouble by association,” Chief Grueder said. Langdon didn’t care exactly how he arrived at the decision that Heather should be tailed, or even if it involved personal feelings. All he knew was it fit in perfectly with his plans. “I’ll keep close tabs on her,” Langdon said, ready to leave the chief’s office. “It would seem the only Rec. League members that have been targeted are those associated with Roy Highmark’s team, so watch your back while you’re at it,” Chief Grueder said, the familiar troubled look returning to his face. “Not to worry. I’m very careful, both eyes open all the time, but thanks,” he said, feeling lucky to be working for Chief Grueder. He cared about his men; not as numbers on a roster, but as flesh and blood human beings. Maybe that’s why he stayed here instead of being lured away by some big city promise of much more money and more prestige.

Loyalty meant more to him as he saw how

downsizing employer bottom-lines had wreaked havoc with families and their welfare. Now his work was really cut out for him. Getting Heather to like him being around was going to take some finesse. If he worked the angle of protecting Roy, he might have a chance of getting next to her. The wind whipped trees around in a frenzied dance to the music of thunder and flashing strobe lights of lightening as he drove through the torrential downpour toward The Wizard’s Bookstore. He prepared his liturgy for Heather as he drove. Appealing to her caregiver side, her love for her brother could be the edge he needed. He could start by asking if she was able to clarify the face from the purple

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haze that she noticed around the victims that no once else was able to see. He’d tell her Chief Grueder wanted to know. Probably knowing the governor was on his case as well would give her a modicum of empathy for him also. Langdon decided he needed every scrap of an edge he could entreaty from any source at this point. A blaze of lightening cut across his path. A deafening crash followed. He could feel the earth shake through his feet from the floor of the car. Too late he saw the target of that last lightening flash. It struck an electric pole and splintered it in half. Half came crushing down on his car, half in the direction the wind blew opposite from him and the car. He ducked as the roof buckled under the force of the wind-pushed weight of the pole. Surprisingly, the windshield stayed in tact. The car stopped so abruptly it stalled out. He thanked his lucky stars that the older car he drove had the strength of design a newer, smaller car would never have had. Surveying his options he realized he was not, however, out of trouble. Not only did the electric pole come down on him, but the next blinding flash and the twisting wind had wrenched a good-sized tree branch down from a towering pine, dropping it on his roof. Through the branches he could see the wires arcing over the front end of his car. If he tried to get out he could be fried. He cursed himself for leaving his radio in the locker back at the station. Off duty never meant off duty when you were homicide. He should have known better. Langdon slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. With the power outage, someone was sure to check where the lines were downed. He should be rescued soon. Unless—and he really didn’t want to think of the possibilities—unless there was wide spread damage. Unless many people’s homes were damaged by the storms, the winds were so close to tornado strength he couldn’t be sure he had not been in one. Was Heather safe? The thought burned in his mind. He turned the key in the ignition to try to get a radio station to come in so he could assess how widespread and devastating the storm was. The radio crackled in response. He tried switching stations, nothing. All the modern technology rendered useless in one fell swoop. There was no point in beating himself up about the oversight of leaving his radio behind. He still refused to join the cell phone generation; too much controversy over the safety of the new phones. He thanked his lucky stars that what was mandatory in some larger cities was not in the budget in small burgs like this. “Lesson learned,” he said as he pretended to chalk one up on an unseen chalkboard, a bit of competition with himself and his alter ego. He checked his body feeling the crush of metal against his legs. When he tried to move, excruciating pain in his lower torso nearly caused him to pass out. He hadn’t thought he was injured at first. Realizing that the numbness in his legs he ignored earlier was very much preferred to this.

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He figured he must have dozed off because the next thing he knew someone rapped on his window. The power crew’s saws were roaring, busy trimming the tree to remove it from his car. They sawed the fragmented post next as others removed the wires. Already another segment of the crew began planting the new pole into a hole where the old one once stood. “You hurt?” one of the men mouthed while the others worked to free the car. “I think I’m fine,” he said. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping in the awkward position seat-belted into the seat, and his legs were numb from sitting who knows how long; it was at least overnight since the amethyst and pink wash of the sunrise splashed through the trees. He hoped the numbness was due to sitting for such a long time; the car wasn’t crushed. He tried to move and an excruciating pain tore up his left leg into his hip. It was then he remembered his earlier attempts to move. An uncontrollable yelp pushed and he slumped back against the seat, blackness enveloping him again. Somewhere outside his consciousness he could hear voices, people calling to him, but he was powerless to answer. Then all sensation and voices stopped.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Elinore Muich pulled her car around into the alley beside The Wizard’s Bookstore; she watched the front entrance until the light over the door was extinguished, indicating the book store was closed for the night. The storm had left wide swatches of the city without power. Fortunately, The Wizard’s was spared, but many of the streets took on an eerie glow where only those with private generators had minimal power to remain open. Everyone was told to stay put since stray power poles and trees twisted, downed, or in some way compromised by the storm, made travel hazardous. Elinore wasn’t worried about storm-weakened poles or trees. She was worried about a strong-willed young woman who claimed to see things future and past. She was worried about a young woman whose powers could wreak havoc with Lavender Paige’s existence and plans. Elinore was worried because this young woman named Heather could come between Lavender’s revenge, Lavender’s justice, and Elinore simply could not allow that to happen. Those people Lavender targeted had first targeted her in one way or another. There was no recourse but to snuff their miserable lights out. How dare they treat her like a piece of meat, an object of their animal lust? Vulgar men, vindictive women; the thoughts angered her as she slid from behind the steering wheel, popping the black telescoping handle of the black and white umbrella open as she held it out the door. The wind tugged at the umbrella and the stinging rain tried to sneak under it to sully her white London Fog raincoat. Quickly she pulled herself out of the car, upright under the large Saks 5th Avenue black and white umbrella. She tugged up the collar of her raincoat to prevent the torrents of bitter rain from soaking into her. Elinore knocked at the back door as Heather had instructed her to do. She felt an almost clandestine twinge, as though she suddenly had become Mata Hari or some other spy-worthy woman with a mission. Could she steel her mind to project only what she willed Heather Highmark to read from her tarot cards? she wondered. The girl was an amateur, her powers untested. It wasn’t like she’d solved some immense mass-murderer’s crime with her powers. Elinore had researched the newspaper

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archives to find out just how powerful Heather’s psychic abilities were in helping the police solve crimes. So far, as she could ascertain, her help had been minimal to this point. But Elinore also remembered the admonition from her mentor: ‘Keep your enemies close, Elinore, so you will always know what they’re up to’ he had said. It was impossible to know at this point if Heather was an enemy. It was true she was helping Chief Grueder, that bumbling keystone cop, with his investigation of the—what was it the papers had dubbed them?—ah yes, ‘Purple Feather Murders’. The hilarity of the press’ unimaginative name, using the killer’s signature purple feather as the name for said murders. It was so like their narrow minded small town reportage. “Ms. Muich, please come in,” Heather said as she opened the door. The wind swooshed in rain and a few stray scraps of paper danced across the floor. “Some storm we had, wasn’t it?” she said. Elinore twirled her umbrella to shake the rain from it before closing it. “Bad luck, open umbrella inside a building,” she said by way of explanation, seeing Heather’s quizzical expression. “I’ve heard that, but I’m not superstitious,” she said, leading the way through the storage area at the back of the store. “You can hang your coat here if you wish.” She pointed to an old-fashioned coat tree and handed Elinore a hanger. She waited while Elinore slipped out of the white coat. She could see envy in Heather’s eyes as she carefully draped the coat over the hanger and hung it on the coat tree. You’ll never go to London and buy your coat direct from there, working in a dingy little bookstore like this, doing tarot card readings during your off-time, she wanted to tell her, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t presume a friendship, especially not of that caliber, where none existed. Instead she smiled demurely, silently following Heather to her tarot reading area. “Ever since I was a child visiting my grandparents’ farm in the summer, I’ve loved storms. They energize me,” Heather said, motioning to Elinore to be seated at the table. “My grandfather used to sit on the front porch and cheer on the storms, his German expletives punctuating the air after each clap of thunder.” “Every child should have such fun in a storm. There would no longer be fear, only respect for Mother Nature’s power,” Elinore said. There was an air of camaraderie between them, which seemed to feed on the electrically charged atmosphere still contained in the stormy night as Heather spread the silk cloth over the small table. “I see you’ve been involved with the police department’s investigation of those murders here lately,” Elinore said.

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“A little. Chief Grueder is hoping I’ll be able to ‘see’ something at the scene of the crimes, but I’m afraid my powers are not that strong,” Heather said, shuffling the cards. “What does he think you can see?” she asked more for herself, wanting to know what Heather might discover about the murders. ‘Keep your enemies close,’ her mentor’s voice echoed again in her mind’s ear. “I’m not sure. A lead, the killer’s face any shred that might get him a place to start with this case.” “According to the papers, they haven’t clue one.” “Other than the purple feather, not a thing that they are releasing to the public anyway, which of course includes me,” she said. “Do you wish to cut the cards? Then we can begin your reading.” “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep you. It’s just such a bizarre thing to be happening in our quiet little town. It fascinates me.” Elinore’s hand hovered over the cards. She must pull her thoughts to something else, something safe to project into the selection of the cards. “With your left hand, and cut them to the left,” Heather instructed her. Elinore thought of the Cummings Account, the edge their bid needed to beat out the competition. She pulled on the image until Dominique Cummings and his starched wife, Erlene, appeared before her with the campaign logo behind them. Then slowly, deliberately, she cut the tarot card deck in the prescribed manner. If the cards had the power to know, and if Heather was skilled enough to discern their meaning, the Cummings account answers would be what she would read, nothing about the purple feather murders would surface. Heather proceeded to lay out the cards in the Celtic Cross formation. She had told Elinore on the previous reading that she felt most comfortable with that particular arrangement. “As for taking my time, that’s why I’m here. Relaxing through conversation actually helps focus the reading,” she said. The reading took over forty-five minutes as Heather read and explained the significance of the various cards. She said she was having difficulty with some of the reverses as they seemed totally unrelated to the others. “But as you think about them in the broader context of your own life at the moment, you may interpret a meaning in them yourself, something different, one that I do not see,” she said with a frustrated edge to her voice. “Actually, you’ve given me some very valuable insights into my current project. It really is insignificant what those other signs may be,” Elinore said, feeling a clawing at the base of her spine. The reversals, the anger and resentment she felt, the fools who saw her as the prostitute Lavender Paige,

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their desires—hard and bold; they wanted satisfaction. Oh yes, Elinore could read between the lines of the moon, the fool, and the rest. She didn’t need or want Heather to interpret those. Heather cleared the deck, shuffling the cards one last time before she replaced them in the cloth and wrapped them gently, nearly lovingly, Elinore thought as she pulled several twenty-dollar bills from her wallet. “Oh no,” Heather protested. “I only charge twenty dollars a reading.” “I insist,” Elinore said, pushing sixty dollars into Heather’s hand. “You have to eat too, you know. And you have provided me with a great direction I need to travel.” She watched Heather blush. My, what an innocent, she thought. If she sensed anything at all about me, she isn’t revealing it. Heather thanked Elinore and slipped the money into the leather pouch on the counter. “Have you had dinner yet?” Elinore asked. “No I haven’t. I usually go home as Mother has a meal ready for me to reheat.” “Why not let me buy you dinner and you can reheat your mother’s cooking tomorrow? It will save her the work of preparing one meal anyway.” When Heather hesitated Elinore added, “I hate storms. I hate eating alone, and I really would enjoy the pleasure of getting to know you better. I could pick your brains about some obscure titles I’ve been trying to find. What do you say?” “I think I would enjoy that,” Heather said finally. “Let me finish up front and I’ll be ready.” Heather disappeared beyond the beaded curtain doorway and Elinore slid into her raincoat. She wished she had bought the black fedora with the white hatband; it would have complemented the outfit. She felt so James Bondish watching her plan to move in on Heather—getting her to relax and become a friend. She would need her to get to Roy. Yes Roy…let’s not forget he was her real mission. She would dare anyone to come between her and Roy Highmark. There was a man who was not a filthy pig like the rest of them. That goal, and keeping Heather from helping with the murder investigation, were her two new priorities and, it would seem, get one and she’d have them both. You devious, clever woman you, she said to herself, giving Heather a broad smile as she followed her out the back door. Elinore popped the button on the telescoping umbrella and sheltered them both from the driving rain. Their feet made little split-splat noises in the puddle alleyway. “Let’s take my car. I’ll bring you back to pick up yours later,” Elinore suggested between claps of thunder as the sky was illuminated with bursts of fireworks–like lightening.

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*****

Obviously removing him from the mangled car proceeded without his help or knowledge, since he found himself on a stretcher in an ambulance with sirens blaring. He felt the lurching, slowing, careening around corners as he struggled to open his eyes. Were ambulance drivers ex NASCAR racers? he wanted to know. As he was jostled to and fro, he groaned. Nothing like being injured further in an ambulance, he thought. “There are so many downed trees and power lines it’s difficult to navigate through them,” the attendant taking his vital signs explained as they traveled. At least Langdon assumed that was what he was doing. He wanted to shout at him— meanwhile you’re going to drive one of my broken ribs into my lungs or snap my neck and completely paralyze me. Slow down, he thought he managed to shout through clenched teeth. Apparently the thought didn’t form the words. All he heard was the groan forced from him as they bounced in and out of a pothole, or over something; whatever it was he felt violated, abused, and oh so tired. The welcome blackness encircled him again and he let it transport him into that place beyond pain. “Sir, sir,” the voice said beyond the darkness. As soon as you can call me by name, I’ll open my eyes. I’ll talk to you then, he thought as he drifted away from the voice and the jolting, jarring sensation of the ambulance and its screeching siren on its race to the hospital. Langdon felt a jolt as the stretcher was removed from the ambulance and hit the concrete. There was a rush of orderlies surrounding the cart. Brightly lit corridors whizzed by as he squinted his eyes to the pain and the brightness of his surroundings. He could hear doors automatically bounce open ahead of them. He could smell the sterile antiseptic smell of the hospital and ether—how come he could smell ether? “Crushed leg, possible fractured ribs, internal injuries, slight concussion,” he heard talk around him, and about him. He knew the routine. How many victims had he seen escorted through emergency channels in the same manner?

“Accident; tree, power poles; no idea how long he was trapped.

Dehydration.” All words he was familiar with, all words he found it hard to associate with himself—but the pain was real and it was everywhere and every doorway they passed through delivered a pair of excruciating jolts as gurney wheels clunked over the track way between the doors.

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At last they stopped. “Transfer on three,” he heard. He braced himself for the lift and thud of reposition as his body was lifted by sheet and tossed to the slab of examination table. He felt like a numbered piece of meat. Weren’t any of these people ever patients? Didn’t they know what it felt like to be pulled, pushed, prodded, lifted, poked and plopped? He groaned again as the air was jarred out of his lungs from the impact of the maneuver. His clothes were cut away. Wait, wait! Calvin Kline’s clothes, hullo? he tried to say but the effort tired him. Who will pay for replacing them? he wondered, thinking of his meager policeman’s salary. Never mind, he was a homicide detective. No, correct that. Lead homicide detective; never been shot in the line of duty, never hospitalized in the line of duty—until now. The pain became red flashes in his brain as IVs were attached, x-rays ordered, pain killers–did someone say painkillers? Some hours later, bounced once again from stretcher gurney to hospital bed, the painkillers had taken blissful effect, his ribs were taped and leg splinted until the swelling goes down, he thought he remembered the doctor saying. “Is there someone we can call for you? Someone who will notice you aren’t home?” the cute little red-headed nurse asked in her pleasantly, squeaky voice. A voice rather like the gal who does those plastic storage bag commercials, he thought. “As a matter-of-fact my boss, Chief Grueder. I’m his lead homicide detective. He might notice if I don’t show up by six,” he managed out of the fog of drugs meant to relieve the pain from his multiple fractures. They thickened his tongue and made it hard for him to talk. His mind seemed to float in and out of a haze. Was he too drugged? The cautious thought clawed at his insides. “What time is it?” “Noon,” she said. “You’ve already contacted my boss and cohorts then? There is no one else to notify.” The redhead nodded. She looked like she was about to ask him something else then seemed to change her mind. She turned to leave and said over her shoulder, “If you need anything, just ring. We’re open all night just like K-Mart” Then she laughed. Langdon tried to take stock of himself, but it was hardly fair given the medication he was being fed intravenously, sedated nearly to ecstasy. How could a thunder storm…? Then he remembered—the wind, the howling wind, the roaring freight-train wind. How, he wondered, had his city faired? No one was talking about the storm. He hadn’t overheard any conversations. Sleep came. He was awakened by the sounds of breakfast carts clinking, clanging and squeaking breakfast to the patients. His stomach

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reminded him he hadn’t eaten since…he couldn’t remember. He strained to look if there was a clock somewhere. Where was his watch? “Good morning.” An over-cheerful, over-zealous, pudgy, black woman zipped in with his breakfast tray, placed it on his tray table and turned to zip out. “Wait. What time is it?” he asked. “A bright and sunny five forty-five a.m.,” she chirped. She disappeared like she had floated in on a treadmill and was merely a robot used to deliver meals. Langdon strained to reach for the phone on the nightstand. He had to call the chief. Someone else would have to watch Heather until he got his walking cast on. Heather. Had the storm done anything to her or her bookstore? She was certainly in the storm’s path. Why hadn’t there been any warning about the severity of the storm? Or had he missed it? He dialed the Chief’s cell phone number; he knew he’d be on his way to police headquarters if he wasn’t already there. “You what? You’re where? Oh, that’s right they called earlier – How long?” Chief Grueder nearly shouted into his ear. Langdon explained his predicament to the chief as best he could, promising he would let him know how long before he could resume investigating the purple feather murders. “I can do desk work once I get the cast on, I would imagine,” he said, feeling guilty about being laid up when they were already so short handed. “It’s not like you planned this, it’s not like you tried to get yourself half killed on purpose,” Chief Grueder said. “We’ll have to pull some doubles until you come back on board, that’s all.” “What does this do to the tail for Heather and her brother?” Langdon asked, knowing full well they didn’t have enough manpower before—nothing had changed that, they still didn’t. There was a long nervous silence, Chief Grueder cleared his throat twice and excused himself while someone had him sign papers and another person argued over an assignment. The man said he had already put in fifty-six hours this week—“how could all this be happening nearly before my day started?” Langdon heard him say to someone else in the room. “I really didn’t need to hear Langdon would be out of commission for any length of time.” Langdon felt even worse now that the chief assured him they would somehow manage without him until he healed some. They would not, however, be tailing the Highmark’s or anyone else from the recreation league. “There simply is no man power,” he said. Langdon promised to call him as soon as the doctor told him what, when, where, how long before he’d be back.

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Next he called Roy and told him the situation, and asked him to keep an eye on Heather. After he told Roy that he suspected everyone on the Rec. League team was being targeted, he called Heather and asked her to watch Roy’s back. “I’ve been thinking the same things and talked Sandy into keeping a close eye on Roy,” Heather said. “You can bet I will too. This may not be anything, but what about you?” “What do you mean? I’m going to be out of commission until I get my ribs healed some. Can’t use crutches right now and it’s too soon to put this leg in a walking cast.” “No, I meant, who’s going to watch your back? You’re part of the Rec. League too, you know.” Langdon had thought about that, but given his job, he already had a partner and other cops watching his back. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” “You’re even more vulnerable right now, though,” she said and then added, “Be careful,” before she hung up. She cared—she actually cared. Maybe there was hope for him yet. He had to get out of the hospital. He had to get back on his feet. Heather needed guarding and he was just the guy to do it. He cursed the pain in his ribs as he stretched to replace the phone. A new determination stiffened his spine. He would protect Heather one way or another.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

Going to dinner and a movie with Langdon was not terrible punishment actually, if it would get him to try and keep Roy safe. Heather would do about anything for her brother. Perhaps it’s rather like being twins when there are only two of you in a family, she suspected. Though they were always loved and well cared for, they were each other’s best friends and encouragers. Heather chuckled inside, remembering her first boyfriend being taken aside and threatened within an inch of his life if he laid a hand on her, or didn’t treat her right. When she went away to college there was no Roy to intercede with her dates, though had she called him with a problem, she was sure he would have been there before the dial tone stopped buzzing in her ear as she hung up the phone. Now, it was her turn to return the favor. If it meant being nice to someone who was obnoxious, bigoted and full of himself, she was willing to bend a little for Roy’s sake. And, she thought to herself, he is good looking. Every woman seems to want him—except me, that is. She sighed and chose the teal-green outfit that complemented her auburn hair and the red highlights as well as her golden-tan complexion, not to mention what it did for her faded olive-green eyes. She would make Langdon wish he could have her, even if that’s not what she wanted, but it would help her to get her way with him. She jumped when the phone rang, looking at it and then the clock. Who in the world would be calling at this hour? she wondered. She always dreaded early morning or late night telephone calls because they were always bad news, or so it seemed. She was shocked to hear Langdon’s voice on the other end. “Oh my God, it’s a good thing you weren’t more seriously hurt. The tornado leveled a wide swath through the east edge of town, but then I suppose you heard that already.” “Actually, not. No one is talking about it, at least not while I’m awake anyway,” Langdon said. “I have no television or radio in my room.” Heather explained that three blocks through Pittman Street and Boogess Park, along with Laferty Lane, had been wiped clean like someone had gone through it with a giant bulldozer. “Lucky that area has few homes. Was anyone hurt?” he asked.

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“Besides you, you mean?” Heather teased. “No, seems the park was empty and the couple families were either not home or sought shelter before it hit.” Heather felt bad for Langdon having to experience the wrath of the storm. She had nearly been caught up in a tornado herself once, and even though she generally liked storms–that was not an experience, she wanted to repeat anytime. “Well, I called to tell you I won’t be able to keep our dinner and a movie date tonight. Unless…” He let the thought drop but Heather knew what the ‘unless’ was. She thought she would let him squirm a bit. “You are excused, this time. Any idea when they’ll be releasing you?” she asked. “It will be at least forty-eight hours before they can think about putting a cast on my leg, they hope. What with the pins, restructuring, and all, the doctor said they need to keep me immobile for at least that long before they can make an educated guess, excuse me, assumption the doctor said. He said they were looking at the varied healing times from individual to individual. Not everyone heals the same. Baring incident, they know what should happened. There are no guarantees in medicine.” She felt a twinge of pain for him. “How about I bring a movie and carryout up to you after work tonight? I really hate letting you off the hook too easily,” Heather said, feeling a blush rise into her cheeks from being so bold as to suggest such a thing. “I would consider that right up there with a par three on the golf course of life.” Heather could hear his disbelief and thought she detected a note of happiness. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t be spending a lonely, boring evening alone in a sterile hospital room. “Do you need anything else? I mean anything I could get for you, a good book to read, magazines, anything? “ “You know what? And, I’m not at all sure if you can do this,” he hesitated. “Try me,” she said. “Since you’re in tight with Chief Grueder, he might let you bring my files up here on the purple feather murders. This would be the perfect, undisturbed, place and time to try to piece that puzzle together. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands right now. Maybe I can shed a different light on the situation. On second thought, rather than put you through that rigmarole chasing around after me—I’ll have my partner drop them by. We need to update each other on where we stand with this case anyway.” “I’ll do it if she can’t for some reason,” Heather said Langdon and Dixie, had only just started to work together. He had told Roy he was not happy to be working with a woman. Apparently, he was getting used to her now. She was spirited, black belt, a regular Charlie’s Angels type cop. Someone

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like Langdon might well feel threatened by her expertise. She was not only a Karate black belt, but had won the marksmanship and Crime in Progress Simulation Competition trophies this year. If Heather had a romantic interest in Langdon, which she did not, she would be very jealous of his gorgeous and capable new partner. Perhaps Dixie would be enough to keep Langdon from making repeated advances to her. “I’m sure she will. I will look forward to seeing you later, though,” he said. Heather felt dismissed and she resented it. Why should she buy dinner for his arrogant highness like she was some part of his servant base, his harem? She resented his attitude and yet, that was exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it, a platonic relationship? The only reason she was doing this in the first place was to get Langdon to keep an eye on Roy, wasn’t it? Her twinge of jealousy over Dixie being able to bring him the files where she only might be able to obtain them only if Chief Grueder allowed it, bugged the heck out of her. How dare he…? Aaurgh! She sputtered and then slapped herself upside her head for her silly behavior. “If I don’t care, I don’t care!” she said. All this silliness was going to make her late for work. Like it mattered—she owned the business. She could open whenever she chose to. But, she did need to be on time today. She remembered Elinore Muich was picking up the books she had managed to find for her. It was a boon having her name on the Estate Sale Notification list. Heather was always privy to antique books available through them. Heather dressed, checked herself in the mirror and went down to breakfast.

Her mother

anticipated exactly when she would show up at the table. Eggs and bacon, toast and juice, there was no escaping her mother’s admonitions that she would not leave the house without breakfast so long as she was alive. She had quit struggling against this losing battle long ago. “Who was that on the phone dear?” she asked as she placed the oblong serving dish in front of Heather. She told her about Langdon’s brush with the tornado. “Would you like me to make him some chicken soup? You could pick it up after work and take it up to him,” she said. Heather sensed her mother’s matchmaking skills were in high gear. “Actually Mom, I’m picking up a movie and dinner to take up to him since we were planning on going out tonight anyway.” There was no way to describe the expression on her mother’s face except beaming or jubilation. “That’s nice of you dear,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. Heather could almost see her reaching up to add a hatch mark to the ‘mother’s goal of marryingoff-your-daughter-before-she-becomes-a-spinster-and-unmarriageable’.

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“Not to burst your bubble Mom, but I have an ulterior motive for my temporary insanity. I need Langdon’s help with something. So, it pays me to be nice to him.” “Shame on you. You know chicken soup is really the best healer of all. Perhaps tomorrow you could bring him some. I will make some today. Homemade noodles—dumplings—we’ll have that young man up on his feet again in no time.” She was a determined woman and Heather didn’t have time or energy to argue with her. At least it gives her something to be involved with, Heather thought. “You really don’t have to go through all that work. It’s just a few broken bones,” she protested lightly, knowing it wouldn’t do a modicum of good. “Nonsense, I wouldn’t dream of calling making chicken soup for an ailing friend work. So you hush, eat your breakfast and get on about your business. I’ll make the soup for tomorrow.” Heather did just that and kissed her mother on the cheek on her way out the door. “See you tonight,” she said. By the time she had The Wizard’s open for business, Elinore Muich strode in through the jangle of the brass bell’s music. Heather watched as Elinore gave the brass bells a dirty look. “I’ve always hated those things,” she said, waving at the bells suspended from the wall brace above the door after she noticed Heather watching her. “Always makes me feel like a thief. What an odd thing to say, Heather thought as she smiled. “I’ve never even thought about them in years. Mr. Wizard had them there when I started working for him. I guess I don’t hear them anymore.” “I suppose it would be a comfort if you’re in the back and a customer comes in,” she said, not paying attention to Heather’s remarks. Her manner mellowed and she pulled her checkbook from her purse. “Have you ventured out and about to see the devastation on the East corner of our fair city left in that tornado’s wake?” “No, I haven’t. I was so glad it hadn’t come through the center of town. I heard there were no injuries, other than Langdon Cruise.” “Langdon Cruise?

Oh yes, he’s that young homicide detective investigating those purple

feather—what a god-awful name to call them—murders. I mean, do they think a purple feather caused them? Is a purple feather a weapon?” Heather felt her agitation. First she seemed elated about Langdon’s injuries, then angry about the name dubbed on the serial killings. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, fluttering her hand at Heather. Was Mr. Cruise seriously hurt?”

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“A few broken ribs, a mangled leg, and slight concussion,” she said. “How on earth…?” Elinore questioned. “A power pole and tree hit his car as he was traveling just west of Boogess Park.” “He was lucky because from what I hear, the park is leveled. Is he in the hospital?” Elinore asked. “At least for the next forty-eight hours he will be. Apparently he needs some time for the leg to be ready for a cast I guess,” Heather said. “Perhaps I’ll send him a card; he seems like such a nice young man,” Elinore said as she tore the completed check from her checkbook. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you having found these,” she said, picking up the books from the counter. “They are in excellent shape, too. Apparently some collector had them carefully shelved until he died. They actually came from his Estate sale this past weekend. We were very lucky to have our request in, where and when we did.” “You are the one who was in the right place at the right time. You are a brilliant young woman. I owe you a supreme debt of gratitude.” Unused to such praise Heather felt the color rise to her face. “It’s what I do for a living,” she said. “No need to be embarrassed. You are a genius.” Elinore said. “I can see we’ll be doing business for a long, long time.” She reached across the counter and clasped Heather’s hand. “Thank you dear,” she said. Her hand was nearly like a burn; Heather sensed the distinct feeling that she was insincere in her praise. She sensed at some core level that this woman was dangerous. She shook herself. How utterly ridiculous. Dangerous? That woman? She erased the thought from her mind, putting it aside as too much tension lately. What, with the murders, the tornado’s near miss, Langdon laid up. How could he help her protect Roy now? Maybe he could get Dixie to. She would have to run that by him tonight when she saw him. Now she had a business to run.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

The hospital was no place for a date. Langdon mulled the thought over in his mind, but getting a chance to see Heather socially any place was better than nothing. Why she offered to bring a movie and dinner he couldn’t fathom. Maybe she liked him after all and the brush off was a big front. Maybe his accident made her take a second look at their relationship, not that they had one at this point, but one could develop. He would welcome it with open arms. He decided he would ask them hook up his television later, when he saw the nurse again. His day was filled with more doctors, x-rays, and waiting in cold, drafty hallways in the zephyr, open-backed nightgown not designed for a living body to be lounging around drafty corridors. He hated waiting while everyone walked by staring at him, talking in hushed voices as though he was terminal, as though he was put out into the hallway like yesterday’s garbage just waiting to be picked up and transported to the morgue or anywhere else, perhaps whenever they had an empty dumpster. He was becoming increasingly angry at the delays from one phase of his diagnosis to another. Being jarred around on the gurney until he was in such pain, in spite of the painkillers they dosed him with, was fodder for his anger. He would fall asleep only to be awakened by someone bumping into the gurney where he was sleeping, or they would be moving him for another test somewhere else. He wanted to shout does anyone know what the hell they are doing around here? At noon, he was finally returned to his room to await a decision about what cast he would get for his leg. There was talk of keeping his hip immobile. That would mean he would be bed-ridden for up to six weeks. What, were they nuts? He wanted to know if they had any clue what that would mean to his life. Did they even care? Finally, two doctors got their heads together about the type of cast they could employ that would allow him movement, limited at best, but at least movement. He breathed a sigh of relief. His lunch held little interest as he waited for Heather to bring dinner. He asked the nurse if the television accepted videos.

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“Don’t they all now days?” she said with sarcasm he felt he didn’t deserve. He made a metal note to write a letter to the editor about work ethics, customer service, and bedside manner. The young woman he had just encountered would never win any Ms. Congeniality award that was sure and certain. But it also gave him impetus to remember to check his own attitude when he dealt with victims or criminals from now on. Everyone deserves a dash of respect, at least until they prove they don’t deserve it, he thought. Dixie walked into his room with a bouquet of balloons, a teddy bear and the files he’d asked her to bring. It was good to see someone besides doctors or nurses; he nearly felt like hugging her. Nearly was the operative word here, he thought. It wouldn’t do to get involved with your partner, no matter how good looking she was. “The guys all said we should have chipped in for a bouquet of purple feathers and poison darts instead, since some of them need to pull doubles to cover for you,” Dixie said, giggling in that Dolly Parton squeaky giggle that endeared her to everyone who knew her. “Believe me, I’d rather be out pounding the pavement than laying in this bed gathering dust,” Langdon said. “I’m sure they know that. They were just razzing.” “Thanks. Tell them thanks for me too. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Anything new on the murders?” “We thought we had a break with the costume shop over on Fifth. The shop sold several purple boas. Some of them, it turns out, were for the Red Hat Society ladies. You heard of them?” “They’re the older women who wear purple dresses, red hats and an attitude, aren’t they?” Langdon said. “They’re the ones. Nothing else to report, but I brought all the notes and files we have so far.” “I really appreciate it, do wish…well, maybe I’ll stumble over something we have been missing. What did Chief Grueder say about you tailing Roy Highmark?” “According to him, that may be the only way to trip up the killer.” “You mean setting Roy up as bait?” Langdon didn’t like that idea one bit. Roy was his best friend and Heather’s brother. If something went wrong… “That’s crazy,” he said. “There has to be a better way to put a tail on Roy and catch the killer too.” “Look at it this way, if that’s the only way he can get a tail, then let’s do it,” Dixie said.

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“I don’t know,” Langdon said. Police business and friendship were not good companions. He wished there was another way. There was. To use Heather as bait. That was even a worse idea. “Looks like we have no choice,” he said. “I better get cracking. Can’t tail the man from here, can I? Dixie said. “Give a shout if you need anything.” “I will, and you be careful. You shouldn’t be working without a net, as in without a partner, I mean.” “Aw, you worry too much,” she said on her way out the door as two orderlies, clumsily steering a gurney, banged their way into the room. “Good luck,” she said, looking from him to the gurney and back again. She slipped away while they were trying to figure out how best to maneuver the gurney to his bedside by first turning it around. Oh, this is going to be a good ride, he thought. At the rate things were going today, he wondered if he would even be alive when Heather showed up this evening. Because of the sedatives and the surgery to put the pins in his leg, and the subsequent resetting of the leg, Langdon was very groggy when Heather raised him out of his drug-induced stupor. “Looks like you won’t be able to stay awake long enough to enjoy the movie,” she said. He tried to talk. It felt like someone had stuffed his mouth full of cotton and his tongue had gone AWOL. “I sor…ree” he managed to slur out. Heather laughed. “Tell you what. Let’s do this another time. I’ll bring the meal home to mother. She and I will watch the movie and I’ll tell you how it was. Elinore Muich invited Mom, Roy and I to her retreat lodge tomorrow. So, I probably won’t get to see you until the following day. I’ll call first.” Anger roared inside Langdon’s head but he couldn’t get any of it to surface, to express it in words. Now the idiots in this place had cost him precious time with Heather. This could have been a pivotal date. Right, it wasn’t a date, but it could have been construed as one. We could have made headway towards building a relationship. We could have established some ground rules. It was no use. He couldn’t make any words form on his thick tongue. Heather waved over her shoulder as she walked out. He discovered he had missed dinner on two levels when he finally regained his faculties about eleven that evening. The kitchen was closed, but they would be happy to get him some Jell-O if he wanted. Everyone knew about the elasticity of hospital Jell-O; there was no way he wanted any of that rubber. “Is there a vending machine with sandwiches or anything?” he asked.

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The nurse offered to get him a granola bar and he decided he would settle for that. His stomach was gnawing on his backbone. Anything would be better than the intense hunger he was feeling. He could feel the horrendous weight of the cast on his leg; it was as though someone had tied a cement block to him. He felt like he was being pulled in half. It was then he noticed his leg was elevated in a sling. The fact that he never felt connected to all his body parts dawned on him. How do they sedate one part of you over the other? He wondered. When the nurse walked in with a hypodermic syringe, he knew the answer to his question, and he didn’t like it. He’d always been squeamish about needles. Since dinner with Heather had been ruined he may as well let the float of the drug-induced dream-state continue. He flinched as she inserted the needle. The next thing he knew he was drifting off into some multi-colored amusement park.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elinore Muich didn’t tell Heather or her family that the retreat was an island that was only accessible by ferry. She wondered how many people knew of the island. As long as she had lived in Cross Point, she had never heard of it. Why such a well-guarded secret? The area was dotted with little coves and small rivers that presumably went nowhere. However, this river opened into a huge lake. Heather tried to keep her bearings so she would be able to check out the area more thoroughly at another time. It was impossible to judge distance, speed, and the number of zigs and zags through narrow passages between landmasses. She sensed the round about course was deliberate in order that Elinore’s retreat would be kept exclusive and private. The ferry pulled as close as it dared to the sandy beach that surrounded the island. Small dinghies launched from a wharf to pick up the partygoers from the ferry to transport them to the resortretreat. It was obvious no one would be leaving without Elinore’s notice. Why that mattered to Heather she wasn’t sure, but it seemed to be significant. It niggled at her subconscious, chewing on it like a dog with a bone. The premonition, if that’s what she could call it, of danger surrounding Elinore still sharp in her mind, worried her now. Paying attention to her intuition had yielded many benefits since she started taking it seriously. Ignoring that inner nagging now hardly seemed prudent. Yet, here they were; she, her mother, and Roy, in answer to an invitation to a weekend retreat to rest, recoup, revitalize, as Elinore’s invitation suggested. Revitalize from what? Heather wondered. It wasn’t as though she or her mother worked so hard they were drained or desperate for a vacation. Roy’s consulting business never seemed to drain him either, so… Why was she being so negative? It should be a fun time. Her mother could use the break, and it would keep Roy out of the purple feather murderer’s cross hairs for the weekend. Maybe by the end of the weekend Langdon would be up to speed and be able to help keep tabs on Roy. She should be thankful, but the nagging in the back of her mind precluded thankful or relaxing.

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Elinore greeted the twenty-five people. Twenty-five plus Elinore made twenty-six divisible by two, everyone being paired up it seemed made thirteen and their arrival had been schedule for high noon on this Friday. Little red flags darted across Heather’s thoughts; she brushed them away. You are so wrapped up in psychic premonitions and omens lately that you’re becoming paranoid. She pushed the thoughts from her mind. An air of royalty surrounded Elinore in her flowing sheer gown of veils; veils of every shade of purple imaginable, or so it seemed to Heather. She looked beautiful out of her prim and proper black and white business attire. Heather caught Roy’s expression and decided he was impressed with the casual Elinore too. Guest cottages were assigned to pairs. Everyone seemed to be already paired leaving Catherine and Heather to share a cottage. Except for Roy. Roy was the single, footloose, unpaired one. He was given the cottage closest to the main lodge. Heather thought it rather odd that she and her mother were probably the farthest away from Roy’s cottage. Was this deliberate too? Boy, when you’re paranoid, you take note of everything, Heather told herself, feeling rather sheepish. “I’ll give you all an hour to settle in and refresh after your journey. We’ll meet in the dining room for a late lunch,” Elinore said. Golf cart-like vans appeared from a huge garage-like structure to carry guests and luggage to their cottages. The cottages were scattered about the heavy growth of trees and bushes that nearly resembled a jungle or rain forest in its denseness. Each cottage was barely visible from the next. Wide paths of spider web connecting gravel threads pulled the cottages together, yet kept them separate. It gave the retreat an air of gaming, Heather thought, for lack of a better name for it. Heather helped her mother carry her suitcases from the entryway where the driver had deposited them before he sped off to deliver the other pairs that shared their cart ride. “Oaulf, Mother! I swear you’ve packed enough for at least a month,” Heather said as she struggled with the heavy bag. “One never knows on these kinds of weekends. It could get cold or be hotter than blazes. You need something for each possibility.” So typical for her mother. She used to send her to school with a jacket and a sweater in seventydegree weather, too. Heather went back outside and retrieved her own bags. “So, what did you think of the ferry ride? Any idea where we are?” Heather asked. Her mother knew this area like the back of her

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hand; she had lived her all her life and her folks before that had settled the area. “If there was anything you need to know about the area, ask Catherine,” people used to say. “I heard tell some years ago about some mob boss’ underling’s hide-a-way retreat in the maze of little lakes back of Switchmore Lake. If you took an airplane ride over this area you’d see why it’s called Thousand Lakes Channels. “You sure could have fooled me, but I’ll never find my way back here alone.” “Why would that worry you dear? I’m sure if Ms. Muich invites, you would have a ferry ride out here.” Heather let the subject drop with her mother, but continued to push it around in her own mind. She had to admit that it was an odd thing to say or even think. Why would she want to try to come out here alone? She certainly had no intention of being best friends with Elinore or anything. The desire for a cigarette came over her. Since she quit three-plus years ago, an occasional, unexpected strong urge came over her to have a cigarette just before an epiphany of sorts came to her. She never knew what to make of the odd phenomenon. She wondered if somehow the thought process was keyed into smell as the distinct odor of cigarette smoke wafted across the room. Since no windows were open, she was even more puzzled. “Do you smell that?” she asked her mother. “Smell what?” she said, returning from the bathroom where she had deposited her personal care products. “Cigarette smoke.” Heather said. Catherine looked around, raised her head and sniffed the air. “Hmmm, smells fresh too. I mean like someone just exhaled.” They stood in the middle of the room staring at each other. Heather got a distinct chill as though some form brushed by her, barely avoiding a collision with her. She shuddered. “Spooks,” her mother said, laughing. Heather knew her mother never believed or put any stock in her psychic abilities, though she did tell Heather that she had one great aunt who was crazy. ‘Thought she could read things—but of course no one believed her’ Catherine had said. Whatever it was, Heather felt there was definitely someone, or something in this cottage besides her mother and her. “Well, we have about forty minutes yet before we have to be back up at the main lodge. Do you want to go for a walk or something?” Heather asked. “Naw, I think I’ll just lie down for a bit. I expect we will have a long evening.” “What makes you say that?”

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“It’s just a feeling I have. You know how you always have these intense feelings about how things are or will be? Well…I’m having one of those moments now,” Catherine said, pulling back the bedspread and stretching out on the bed. “Okay, you rest. I’m going to take a short walk,” Heather said and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. Heather’s mind seemed to argue with itself. Sometimes she wondered if perhaps this wasn’t where the movie Sybil came from. People whose minds argued within them. She wondered if the cart-vans would come back to bring them to the lodge for lunch, or if they would have to walk. She noticed the path to the cottage was lined with tiki torches out to the main path but no farther. If the carts didn’t bring them back at dusk, they would need flashlights or torches to carry. She made a mental note to tuck her flashlight into her pocket before they left for the evening. The thatch doors would not lock; did they need to worry about intruders on a private island? What about the wintertime? Didn’t Elinore come out here at all during the winter? she wondered. Heather walked out to the end of the path and looked in the direction she figured the lodge would be. They were the last cottage on the trail, everyone else would be in that direction, she reasoned, looking due north. She needed to talk to Roy; she needed the security of a friendly male face. Suddenly she was afraid.

*****

Heather hurried back to her cottage. At least with her mother, there were two of them; if anything threatened, she’d have another person to double her chances of extricating themselves. Her mother was very fit for her sixty years of age. Why did Heather rely so heavily on her now? She remembered a time when she thought she would need to be her mother’s protector, but lately she appreciated her mother’s strength and independence. What would she do if anything ever happened to her? As she rounded the last corner on the path back to the cottage, she saw the shadow of a large cat dash off into the undergrowth. She blinked her eyes. Was that a panther? Fear slid icy fingers around her heart and squeezed. “Mother,” she called, afraid of what she might find. She raced up the path, took the stairs up to the cottage door two at a time. “Mother,” she called again. She stormed through the door. A groggy-eyed Catherine sat up on the bed. “What, what is it?” she asked, trying to focus.

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Heather grabbed her and hugged her. “I…I think I just saw—no, it couldn’t be. It must have been my imagination.” “Saw what? You scared me to within an inch of my life child,” Catherine said. “What in God’s green earth did you think was prowling around here?” “You’re going to think I’m nuts, but I swear there was a panther stalking around the cottage.” “Unless it’s Ms. Muich’s pet, I highly doubt it. First off, it would be illegal; second off, the climate and habitat is all wrong for a panther.” “I know, I know. There’s something about this place…about Elinore Muich I don’t trust,” she said, going to look out the window. “You and your imagination or premonitions, I’ve about…” Their conversation was cut short by the shrill honk of a cart-van summoning them to lunch. “Perfect timing,” Catherine said. Heather looked around the room. The windows were locked, but there was no way to lock the reed-mat door securely. This bothered her, but she followed her mother out to the cart-van. She would ask Elinore about the panther the first chance she got. Some of the guests would be returning to the mainland after dinner that evening, Heather discovered that as they mingled with the crowd outside the main lodge, or was it mansion? She didn’t know what category it fit. She realized that the reason for the lack of luggage with some of the guests was their impending return to the mainland, not their permanence at the island as she had thought earlier. During lunch Elinore announced they would have a scavenger hunt the next day; and the winning pair of guests would split twenty-thousand dollars. A groan arose from those that needed to return that evening. “Not to worry, I will invite you back again. Perhaps next time you will be able to stay for the scavenger hunt,” she said, smiling in a way that Heather would have described it as evil leer rather than a genuine smile. The buzz about the prize continued for most of the meal. Elinore made sure they all knew the hot tubs, sauna, and swimming pool were all available for her guests, whenever they chose to use them. Roy was talking with a couple of new guys from the recreation league when Heather managed to work her way over to him. He introduced her. She hadn’t remembered seeing those two before. Roy explained they were new members, replacements for…of course he didn’t finish that they took the place of the murdered men.

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Elinore approached Roy and Heather just as Heather was going to tell him about the panther, so she decided not to say anything about it at this point. “Would you be interested in a horseback ride along the beach?” Elinore asked Roy. Heather’s radar nearly went off the screen with her danger signals already on alert; she was ready to do anything to keep Roy from going off with Elinore alone. “You and Catherine are welcome to come too if you like,” Elinore said, turning to Heather. “I’ll ask my mother if she would like to,” Heather said. “But I…can’t.” She backed away and turned toward the people in the room. Heather’s terror of horses knotted the pit of her stomach. She could not; she would not be able to tag along with them. “I’m afraid Heather and horses are like oil and water,” Roy said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Elinore said. To hell she didn’t know, Heather thought. From the look on her face, she knew very well that Heather wouldn’t ride. Catherine joined their little group and Elinore invited her to join Roy and her in a horseback ride along the beach. “Oh, no, no you children run along. I think I’ll test out the hot tub before dinner.” Heather’s heart sank. Her mother saw Elinore as money, prestige and a marriageable candidate for Roy; experience told Heather there was no interfering in that. Catherine wasn’t about to interfere where romance could possibly bloom, especially a romance funded with such financial success as Elinore’s. How Heather wished she could pull her mother aside and insist she go along. If she told her what she feared, her mother would call her jealous. How she wished she had the power to influence people’s minds the way some psychics did. She would put thoughts in Roy’s mind that he didn’t want to go, or in her mother’s mind that made her want to go with them. Heather felt so helpless. The runaway horse that caused her extreme dread of the creatures loomed large in her mind. She had only meant to ride him to the corral when a sudden crack of thunder spooked him. He flew into the corral and dislodged her from his back, more with a shiver than a buck. She slipped off his bare back into the corner of the corral. She landed soft enough, but then he came back after her, rearing, pawing the air. She could still see his terrified eyes, wild and fierce looking, the squeals emanating from him that sounded like wailing sirens and chalkboard fingernails rolled into one horrific slice of time she didn’t want to relive. If Chet Westerly hadn’t showed up when he did, Heather shuddered to think. She was thirteen and nearly never saw fourteen. It was as though the horse was possessed. Every time she went near him after that, he reared and got that terrified look again. They had finally gotten rid of him, but Heather would never again trust any horse.

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No, she wouldn’t be going riding with Roy and Elinore—did Elinore know that? Heather couldn’t help but feel that she did. “I think Heather and I need to try out the swimming pool, too. It’s been years since I swam in a swimming pool and I really would like the opportunity to just lounge in the sun. You two enjoy yourselves,” Catherine said as she took Heather’s arm and nudged her toward the pathway leading back to their cottage. “Let’s go get into our swim suits dear,” she said, blowing a kiss at Roy, waving him and Elinore away. Heather knew exactly what her mother’s motives were, and there really was no way to tell her what her visions and her insides were saying about Elinore Muich without sounding like a spoiled brat who wanted to pick her brother’s companions for him. Could it be her defense mechanisms not wanting any woman to take her brother’s attention from her? As silly as that sounded, when she paused to think about it, she realized that perhaps it was true. Perhaps she wanted Roy all to herself as they’d always been. Between the laughter and chatter at the pool and getting to know the other guests, thanks to her very outgoing mother, Heather couldn’t believe how quickly the afternoon passed. The other guests began filtering back to their cottages to dress for dinner. Elinore had made a fleet of motorized scooters available for anyone who cared to use them. Catherine was delighted. Heather decided to jog alongside her mother instead. “I need the exercise,” she said. “I could use the exercise, but I simply must try my hand at scootering,” Catherine said. “Scootering?” Heather echoed, laughing hysterically at her mother’s coining of a new word. Her mother always was one for experimenting, trying new things, adventurous like Roy. Not cautious and methodical like her. They made it back to the cottage with only minor deviations, nearly sending Catherine down in one of the ditches beside the pathways as they laughed over each swerve. “It looks a lot easier than it is,” Catherine protested as she parked the scooter on the gravel spot in front of their cottage. Heather hadn’t thought of Roy and Elinore most of the afternoon. “I wonder if Roy got back from his horseback ride yet?” she wondered aloud to her mother. “I thought I saw them scoot across the area outside the pool about a half hour or so ago. I imagine he’s showering for dinner now.” Her mother spoke with a knowing, authoritative tone that Heather never presumed to second guess. Though now she wondered why she always took her mother’s confident manner as absolute truth

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in whatever she spoke. She wouldn’t feel certain all was well until she saw Roy and knew firsthand he was okay.

*****

The dining room with crystal chandelier and crystal candelabras on the table and a buzz of perfectly matched and dressed wait staff gave the evening a distinct feel of importance and regality. It seemed the atmosphere elevated everyone to celebrity status. Manners that, beside the pool, had been just neighbors, rather country-folk-like, changed to aloof and starched I know you but, type of demeanor. Heather thought the transformation phony and strange. Roy was seated at Elinore’s right. Neither of them seemed to notice anyone else they were so absorbed in each other. They hadn’t been there in time for before dinner cocktails so Heather never was able to speak to Roy before dinner. She would make sure to talk to him before the evening was over. She felt the need to warn him to be careful, to take baby steps with this woman. No matter how hard she tried to get his attention, Heather couldn’t seem to connect with him. It was as though he was hypnotized, zoned out, on another planet; something was strange in his behavior. Elinore clinked her fork on her glass. “Everyone,” she said, pausing until she had everyone’s undivided attention. “If you would be so kind as to adjourn to the ballroom, I have arranged for music. There is also a bar for your pleasure. Please feel free to make use of them both. Enjoy yourselves; that’s what a retreat is all about.” She smiled broadly waving her arm regally over the group as though she were spreading magic fairy dust. Nearly in unison chairs slid back and guests moved as a single unit to the dance hall led by Elinore in her deep-purple velvet gown with Roy attached to her side. Attached seemed the appropriate word to Heather. Glued would be a better word. Roy seemed to be under her spell. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, look or speak with anyone else. Heather watched in annoyance. As couples mingled and danced, Heather watched Elinore and Roy. She edged closer in an attempt to try to talk to him while Elinore was busy mixing him a drink. Like something out of an old Viking movie, Heather saw Elinore poise her ring over the cocktail glass she had mixed for Roy and empty the powdery contents into his glass. She quickly stirred the drink with a swizzle stick and handed it to Roy. In one motion she clinked her glass with his and raised hers in a toast-like gesture. Heather couldn’t hear as she pushed her way through the crowd; her ears sounded like she was underwater, everything was hollow. She tried to reach Roy before he drank the concoction Elinore had mixed.

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Everything moved in slow motion. Her movements seemed nearly impossible to execute, as though she was mired in quick sand, as though invisible forces were holding her back. Drugged! Her mind screamed as the floor gave out beneath her and she spiraled into the abyss created by its absence.

*****

Heather awoke in a strange bed, in a strange room. She couldn’t, for a moment, remember where she was or what had happened. There was light streaming in beside the room-darkening shade. Daylight. What happened to the…? Then she remembered. She saw Elinore drug Roy’s drink and she was trying to reach him before he drank it. She bolted upright. Her head felt like she’d been hit with an axe and she fell back to the pillow. “So, finally you’re awake.” She heard her mother’s voice. Carefully, slowly, she turned her head toward the voice and struggled to open her eyes. They felt like they had lead weights attached to the lids. “You gave us all quite a start. It must have been your reaction to the shrimp salad. Did you forget you were allergic to shrimp?” her mother said. “I…” Heather’s mouth felt like a moth’s wings. Dry. Powdery; her throat parched. “Water,” she managed to croak out. Catherine put her arm under her neck and eased her up to the straw in the glass of ice water she held. Heather hadn’t eaten any of the shrimp salad. She knew better. Someone had drugged her food and made it look like it was a reaction to the shrimp salad—or they laced the shrimp into something else she ate. Whatever, whichever way it happened, she was convinced it was deliberate. She tried to think back to when she and Elinore had eaten out together. Did they discuss her food allergies? Her mind was so foggy she couldn’t recall. Did it even matter? she wondered. She felt so powerless, so helpless, so victimized. “Roy,” she squawked. “Roy is fine. He’s the one who carried you back here when you collapsed,” she said. Heather wasn’t sure that what she thought she saw actually happened. Was she hallucinating? Her head ached like she’d been kicked in the head by a mule. She never had a hangover that hurt this bad. She swallowed and collapsed back on the bed. Her stomach was a mass of caterpillars trying to get out, turning to moths as they fluttered up her throat.

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“You rest dear. I’ve been paired up with George for the scavenger hunt. You should have been with that nice looking Ramón, but you blew that chance. Elinore took and paired him with Salena and said she would work with Roy since she had no idea where her staff put the treasures anyway.” Damn, Heather thought. I’ve played right into her hands. She groaned. Her mother took the sound as regret she had missed her chance at Ramón. “You’ll get another shot at him tomorrow provided you get yourself well,” she teased. Her mother patted her arm and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Rest—that’s what you’re here for,” she said before leaving. The room felt cold, and the silence was nearly deafening following her mother’s departure. She heard her mother’s scooter start, and the drone of its tiny motor faded into the distance. A whiff of fresh cigarette smoke floated past her nostrils again. Her gaze darted around the room looking for the source—there was no one near. The windows were closed; how could…? Sleep, nightmares, visions, taunted Heather as she drifted in and out of consciousness. When she heard a commotion, she struggled to pull herself out of bed. She held on to the dresser and then the wall as she made her way to the window and eased open the curtain. People were hurrying along the gravel pathway toward the main lodge. A woman, face buried in her hands, was being guided by two other women. She was crying hysterically. Heather had to find out what was going on. She struggled into a pair of shorts, t-shirt and her running shoes. Her headache was now a dull throb and her stomach had settled to hunger pangs; no more caterpillars or moths. She took a long drink of water and staggered to the door. She hoped her scooter had been returned to the cottage. Even though she hadn’t wanted to use it before, she needed it now. She reasoned that even if she couldn’t ride it, it could help to hold her up. As luck would have it, there was a scooter outside. Heather turned the key and the scooter purred to life. She carefully situated herself on the seat and squeezed the accelerator. The scooter coughed and then slowly edged from its parking spot. As she crept along the pathway trying hard not to look like a drunken sailor on shore leave, she began hearing snippets of conversation about Morrie Rope, one of the other guests who she had found out just happened to be one of Roy’s new fellow Rec. League players. “He went to step across the pit to retrieve a yellow ribbon, the third item in the scavenger hunt and he just…

Oh, it was awful,” the woman said, collapsing into her friends arms, sobbing

uncontrollably Heather slowed the scooter to a crawl and let it idle behind the group, listening to their grief. She turned the scooter around and headed for the snake pit; she needed to see for herself what Morrie had been up against.

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When she arrived at the scene, several men were engaged in extracting the corpse from the snake pit as another shoved snakes off the still warm body of the man with a long pole, much like that used to pull books off a high shelf. As they raised him slowly, a purple feather drifted back down into the pit with the pine snakes. Pine Snakes. Heather’s memory latched on to the name, her zoology class came to mind. A Pine Snake’s bite could make you sick, however it usually was not potent enough to be lethal. That was one Pine Snake; what about a pit full of them? Or was that a cover. Another Rec. League player, another purple feather. Was she paranoid or was it, as she suspected, a ruse? Otherwise, why the purple feather? Where was Roy? Her stomach knotted again and her head buzzed. She suddenly felt very ill, very frightened and she knew… They needed to leave the island on the next ferry.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Elinore changed personas the moment she stepped from the elevator on the thirteenth floor of the Vintage Orchid Suites building. She became Lavender Paige without giving Elinore Muich a scrap of space in her thoughts. Stripping the black and white packaging from her thin frame, she put that clothing in the special closet by the door. She had built the closet especially for Elinore, effectively closing the Elinore psyche in a four by four-foot cubicle. She opened the door on the other side of the closet into the orchid, lavender, plum and all shades of purple that were Lavender Paige’s life—or at least the life she had made for herself. It was like a writer experiencing writer’s block suddenly breaking through to the other side; a transformation from caterpillar in a cocoon to butterfly. Elinore, stuffy and methodical, was now shut in her own pupa while Lavender was free to be. She burst nude from the closet, all her restraints left behind. Floating about the suite she made a pitcher of margaritas at her lavender bar, in her purple pitcher, pouring a measure into an orchid glass to take with her to the master bedroom to shower and dress. The room smelled of lavender incense; the Glade Plug In™ cartridge plugged into the power emitted a subtle infusion of floral scent, heavier on the lavender side. The closet was full of the trappings of her other life. She chose a lavender lounge outfit for she would not be leaving the suite tonight. She needed to devise a plan. A plan to get rid of Heather Highmark. The annoying little gnat with her ‘seeing’ power was beginning to irritate Lavender. “No matter what path we take, she is always suspicious. I should have known better than to invite her to the retreat thinking she would begin to see a different side of me. What will she think when I marry her darling little brother?” Lavender threw her head back and laughed. Poor delicate little flower, Heather. Irish spring fields and fields of heather. If somehow she could get her to quit helping the police with their investigation of the purple feather murders… But as long as Langdon Cruise was involved, Heather would persist.

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Dreadful shame that tornado didn’t finish the job on him. Lavender wondered what effect getting rid of him would have on the investigation. Not that she cared if he lived or died, he was a bug that deserved to be squished like so much dirt underfoot. However, she needed to exercise caution lest she point a finger at herself by getting rid of him. She needed Heather to keep an eye on him and the investigation. She needed Heather to get next to Roy and her mother, Catherine. Damn her, damn Langdon Cruise, they were dominos she needed in place. She sipped on the margarita, licking the salt from her lips as she strolled back to the living room. Lavender began to formulate a new plan. If she can get Catherine to approve of her, or rather dear Elinore, then she could enlist her help to get Heather to back off. Yes, that would be a better way to move things around in her favor. Get Catherine to help. Thoughts of the retreat came back to her.

Roy had been an absolute puppet.

So easily

controlled, he made all the work well worth it. Too bad his friend Morrie had to tumble into that snake pit. Of course since Heather was so ill, unable to attend the scavenger hunt, she had to redistribute partners to compensate. Lavender laughed as she refilled her glass with another margarita after she salted the rim. Roy had been reassigned as her partner, how positively synchronistic. Another guttural laugh bounced off the walls and windows in the silent suite. He was such a good alibi, too; so drugged he would believe anything she told him. A tiny poison dart, blown from ten feet away. “Oh, sorry Morrie! Not to worry, Pine Snake venom rarely does more than cause a minor inflammation. He died? Oh how terrible…” To think it happened at her retreat. As his hysterical partner ran off to get help— the sight of the snakes, crawling over his body was an unexpected clever touch—Lavender had slipped unobtrusively to the pit and dropped a single purple feather. Roy was busy trying to get to the center of the piranha-filled moat via the stepping-stones. He never even knew she was gone. By the time the guests came crashing through the woods to tell her the news, she was reaching her hand out to take the yellow ribbon Roy had retrieved from the tree in the center of the moat. Both showed appropriate horror and raced the few yards to the snake pit accident. After that incident the game was called off and everyone chose to leave. How sad. She would need to devise another way to get Tracy Addleback now. The list of recreation league players that had spurned Lavender Paige was now reduced to three because of the new members added earlier. She pulled the chart from the desk drawer and put a red

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cross through Morrie Rope’s name, circling Tracy Addleback’s in purple ink. “Next,” she said, tapping the page with her long perfectly manicured index finger. She walked out to the balcony overlooking Cross Point. It had grown so in the last ten years; it was a teaming metropolis, a jungle of evil male predators. They were fewer now, but Main Street, where the hookers worked, was still the underbelly of the city. Where scum still crawled, scum like the men of the recreation league. Rich men cheating on their bored wives with their starched under garments. Lavender’s mind went back to Heather. She needed to decide what she was going to do about her. What she had discovered about her allergy to shrimp was most helpful, but what else did she have that Lavender could use against her. Lavender pulled the private investigator’s file out and opened the report he had generated on Heather. She was a doting little sister who took care of her brother always. Now she assumed the role of guardian for her mother. She’s a caregiver—nothing usable in that. Everyone has a deep dark secret hidden in their closets. I wonder what Heather’s is? Lavender was sure there had to be something. The fear of horses had helped, but she needed more—one last little chink in the angel Heather’s halo. She spent the next hour poring over the report that had cost her a thousand dollars. “It better be worth it,” she growled to herself. What’s this? A child out of wedlock? Given up for adoption—so what? Not usable in this day and age. There it was. Heather had been incarcerated in her early twenties. Lavender thought she had worked at The Wizard’s since she was sixteen; at least that’s what Heather had said. It was true, except for the three-year hiatus when she lived in Taos, New Mexico. Lavender read the police report with interest —and renderings of the subsequent trial. Heather, angel, you just fell from your pedestal. Lavender downed her margarita and returned the report to her desk drawer, prepared to instigate her own agenda.

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Chapter Thirty

Roy put the coffee mug down in front of Heather and then sat across from her at the kitchen table. “So, another Rec. League player met with an accident. That’s what it was—an accident. The fact that it was a Rec. League player had nothing to do with it. It was just an unfortunate accident.” “You didn’t think it strange that I had a severe reaction to the shrimp in the shrimp salad that I know better than to eat?” Heather said, studying her brother’s face. Was he so naive, was he so hypnotized by Elinore Muich that he couldn’t sort out the connection between the two incidents and the rest of what was going on? Anger edged her voice. “Sometimes I swear someone needs to hit you on the head with a baseball bat to get your attention, to make you listen and see what’s really happening around you.” “Maybe I’m just not as paranoid as you are,” he shot back. “Well, excuse me! But I sense danger around that woman.” “You sense danger? I sense jealousy,” Roy taunted her. Heather was about to give up. Roy could be so pig-headed, stubborn sometimes she wanted to knock him sideways; she itched to slap him upside his head. Instead, she threw up her hands and tried a different approach. “You know I’ve done a couple tarot readings for Elinore Muich and I get these visions of her—” Roy cut her short. “You and your visions, do da doodoo…” Roy said, making ghostly gestures with his fingers beside his head and rolling his eyes. “Your ouija board and crystal ball are getting a little tiring. Chief Grueder might be under your spell, wanting to believe anything to find an answer to these bizarre killings and solve his case, but I’m afraid I don’t buy into that garbage so give it up already,” he said, pushing away from the table and stalking across the kitchen to put his cup in the sink. “Roy, I sense danger around that woman. Please promise me you’ll be careful.” Roy turned and stared at her for a long minute. Then he nodded. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m as spooked as you are about all these murders, but I’m not going to quit living because of them.” He sat

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back down and reached across the table, covering her small hands with his. “I appreciate your concern, really I do. But, I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.” “I’m sure that’s what your friends thought too, just before they were killed,” Heather said, not quite ready to concede yet. “Maybe just exercise a little caution around her. Obviously, she had you under her spell at the retreat—you couldn’t even see anyone else. Since she knows, or seems to know, so much about us, why didn’t she invite Sandy to be with you? She knows you two are an item; at least everyone else knows you are, so why didn’t she? Ask yourself that if you will.” “Check with Mother. You know how she scrutinizes everyone. She seems to think Elinore is a prime catch. Not that I’m ready to ‘catch’ anyone just yet, but she is fun, loaded and interested in me. Nothing wrong with that from my vantage point, or Mother’s either. Maybe she was being jealous. A glamorous well-to-do older woman attracted to her big brother whom she always had assumed secretly was hers alone for life. Was she experiencing pangs of having another female come between her baby brother and her? There were times when Heather wished there was another man in the world exactly like her brother—for her—and then there were times like this when she wondered if you put all the men in a gunny sack, shook them up and dumped them out, if any of them would be recognizably different from any of the others. Her mother was intent on getting her children married off to money and security, with a little prestige thrown in for good measure. Heather would not trust her mother’s opinion of Elinore Muich where Roy was concerned. What she needed to do was to concede she was too close to her brother to see clearly. What she should be concentrating on is getting Elinore’s help to protect Roy from the serial killer since she is obviously very interested in him, perhaps even romantically so. Heather held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Take care of yourself for me. I’ll see you at Mother’s on Sunday, right?” Traditional Sunday dinner with Mother was always having the same chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas, carrots, and a garden salad. The only variation was desert. That could always be different. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get bored with Sunday dinner’ she had said. “I’ll be there. I think she invited Elinore too,” Roy said. Oh great, Heather thought. Mother is zeroing in on her target. She smiled at Roy and left. She drove to The Wizard’s, reflecting on the weekend and all that had transpired. She thought it was strange there was no police investigation into Morrie’s death. But because the witnesses all said it was a freak accident, it was accepted as such? What ever happened to the family demanding an autopsy? Were they

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convinced a snake bite killed him? A snake bite from a non-poisonous snake…granted, it could have been many snake bites, but no one ever said. Heather hadn’t talked to Chief Grueder since the incident. Because she was sick in bed at the time it happened, she couldn’t shed any light on the incident anyway; she knew nothing of any consequence about any of it. Then a thought hit her—hadn’t Chief Grueder spied the purple feather in the snake pit? Or had the snakes covered it with their bodies, or dirtied it with their squirming? Could they have eaten it perhaps? If he had noticed it, how come weren’t they doing an autopsy for the same poison dart as the other murders and at the same time, the purple froth. If it was the same MO, where was the purple feather, where was the purple froth? Why wasn’t it mentioned, or didn’t anyone look that close? With all the snakes milling around, she supposed that was a possibility. She spun her car around and headed back uptown to the police station. Chief Grueder would never have missed such an obvious clue. Wasn’t it in the police report? The man at the desk said Chief Grueder was at the hospital visiting Langdon Cruise. Aha! Heather thought. He’s getting input from Langdon. They must be keeping the purple feather from the press; she would catch up with the Chief at the hospital. Enlisting Langdon to keep an eye on Roy was still her number one priority. At least that’s what she convinced herself the reason to see Langdon was. That darn inner-voice nagged at her. People could get put away for arguing with themselves the way her subconscious always argued with her illogical, irrational self. As Heather entered the corridor Langdon’s room was on, a buzz of activity was in progress. Uniformed police officers were talking with nurses at the nurses’ station. One of the police officers saw Heather get off the elevator and approached her.

“Did you see anyone in the elevator?” the

policewoman asked her. “No.” Heather knew something had happened and felt it directly involved Langdon. “I’m here to see Langdon Cruise, trying to catch up with Chief Grueder, too,” she said. She spotted the chief coming out of Landon’s room and her heart took a tumble to the pit of her stomach. Brushing by the officers, she called, “Chief! Chief Grueder!” Hearing his name, he turned in her direction. “Is Langdon okay,” she asked, rushing toward him. “He’s fine. Lucky thing I came to see him when I did,” he said. The chief was holding an ice pack against the back of his head. “That doesn’t look very lucky,” she said, motioning to the ice pack

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“Oh, this? When the would-be killer blew through me, he knocked me out cold on the concrete floor.” “They were after Langdon?” Heather asked. “Apparently. The nurse saw the commotion, called security and the police, and came to my rescue. That’s when she saw the intruder sticking the hypodermic needle in his IV.” Heather was really confused. If Langdon was scheduled to go home, what was he still doing hooked up to an IV? And who would know that he was, if they were going to use it to try to kill him? “What IV? I thought he was about ready to go home?” “He was, but for some reason he started to have a reaction to the pins they put in his leg. They had to go back in and use a different, more expensive kind. This has set him back a few days, now.” “Didn’t anyone see the person?” “Black ski-mask, black sweats; couldn’t tell if it was woman, man or gorilla,” Chief Grueder said, grimacing as adjusted the ice pack on his head. “We’re putting a guard on his door. The good thing is we may be able to get some fingerprints off the syringe,” he said. “Things have been getting more bizarre by the minute around here,” Heather said. The chief nodded his head in agreement. “What are you doing here? Your radar kick in or something?” he asked. “I was trying to catch up with you to see what else, if anything new turned up on the Morrie Roper case. And to ask if…if you saw the purple feather at the retreat where Morrie died?” “Nothing new. Not sure this is connected either. Could just be someone with a vendetta against the detective,” Chief Grueder said. “As for Morrie’s death—off the record and on the hush, hush—yes, to the purple feather and the purple froth. The autopsy showed the same poison as the others, but his family is cooperating with us because we don’t want the real cause leaked to the press.” “So as to trip up the killer?” she asked. “Hopefully,” Chief Grueder said. He looked frazzled and old; Heather saw the case was sucking the life out of him. Langdon was asleep, medically-induced from his surgery, so Heather wasn’t able to talk to him. Since Chief Grueder didn’t think there was a connection to the purple feather murders, she headed back to The Wizard’s. There was nothing she could do with regards to getting Langdon’s help in protecting Roy now, especially if he was still going to be confined to the hospital for any length of time.

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Chapter Thirty-One

Elinore lit the candles and chilled the wine. She wanted everything to be perfect when Roy arrived. If anyone could get Heather to back off from helping with the purple feather investigation, Roy could. She would see to it he was on her side before he left. If by some stretch of the imagination he wasn’t ready to confront Heather…well, there was always plan B. Roy arrived exactly on time with a bottle of wine and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. What a delightful young man, Elinore thought. How could she have thought he would have participated in that bachelor party where she popped out of the cake for the recreation league brother who was getting married? No, the ringleader had to be that dreadful Langdon Cruise. He was going to be a problem to dispose of now that he was so closely guarded. But, there were ways. She just had to bide her time. Meanwhile, she would enjoy Roy Highmark’s company for as long as she could. “Thank you. They’re beautiful,” Elinore said, accepting the bouquet. “We’ll put them in a vase immediately.” Elinore pulled a perfect vase from the shelf of vases in the walk-in pantry. Noticing Roy’s amused expression, she assumed it was over the number of vases she had. “I love flowers and it’s so important to have just the appropriate vase to set them off to their best advantage.” She filled the vase with tepid water, dropping an aspirin and a quarter teaspoon of sugar in the water. “It’s supposed to keep them longer. I’ve done it for years with excellent results,” she explained. “I’ll have to remember that,” Roy said. “Mother loves cut flowers. I’ll have to take you by her gardens sometime.” “I’d love that,” she said as she handed Roy the chilled wine to open. “Do you know how to use one of these?” she said, handing him the elaborate corkscrew. They enjoyed their wine over some small talk. When Elinore finally got an opening to approach Roy about getting Heather to back out of the purple feather investigations, she gently tried to do it from Heather’s safety perspective. “It’s so dangerous for a young woman to be involved in something as horrific as all these murders. Isn’t there some way you can convince her the police are capable to do their job without her?”

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“She isn’t about to listen to anything I have to say on the subject. Matter-of-fact, she told me to ask you to help protect me—can you imagine? How and why she thinks you should, would or could is beyond me,” Roy lied. He wasn’t about to let Heather or Elinore tell him what to think or do—or that he couldn’t protect himself if need be. Elinore laughed, not for the reasons she assumed Roy thought, but for her own decision right then to move on to plan B to protect herself from Heather’s abilities to ‘see’ into things. She served her specialty, spinach stuffed prime rib with all the trimmings, and a few extras that were only incorporated into Roy’s meal. He devoured the meal like he hadn’t eaten in a year, which did Elinore’s heart good. She loved to see a man with a hearty appetite, especially when she had laced his food with her special potion. She didn’t think she would be able to handle him once he fell asleep, so she led him into the bedroom while he still knew where his feet were but still willing and ready to become intimate with her. He sat back on the bed and pulled her into him, kissing his way from her navel to her neck before he slumped back on the bed. “You were just too easy,” she said as she lifted his legs and swung him around so he was prone on the bed. She undid his shoes and took them off. Then she had a thought; if he was naked when he woke up, he would be less likely to try and overpower her to escape. He would probably even think they had already made love with the slightest suggestion from her. She proceeded to strip him bare and roll him under the sheet and blankets. Elinore picked up his clothes and shoes and left the room. “Sleep tight,” she said as she walked out and closed the door behind her. Perfect, everything had gone just as she had planned, even if it was too bad she had to use plan B. Now all she had to do was keep him sedated. She put Roy’s clothes on hangers and hung them in the concealed area behind her own closet. She retrieved a pair of handcuffs she had bought at the tiny ‘Cop Shop’ in Madison when she was there last year. Back in the bedroom she handcuffed Roy to the bed. He was too strong, too physically fit to trust that he would not try to overpower her if he wanted to, at some point. The pile of magazines from under the stairwell cubbyhole were scattered about the kitchen as she searched for the perfect wording to bring Heather into line. After changing into fresh latex gloves, she cut and pasted—pasted and cut, until she was satisfied with the way the note read and looked. She took the paper that Roy had written Heather’s store address on and taped it to the front of the envelope that contained her pasted note. She marveled at her stroke of genius telling him she needed Heather’s bookstore address to send her a recipe that she’d asked for. She was planning to make it as a surprise for his mother’s birthday. “You are so clever you’re scary,” she said as she taped the envelope shut. No

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fingerprints, no DNA, no chance to figure out who had sent the note if Heather did dare give it to the police after all. The addition of the purple feather to the envelope was a perfect signature. Elinore laughed at how well everything seemed to be working out. Oh how she wished she could be a fly on the wall when Heather opened the letter. She would absolutely have to go by the bookstore in the morning to see how the dear girl was doing. Of course, it would be under the pretext of looking for a gift for an old friend, a journal perhaps in which she could write down the adventures of Roy’s final days. She should re-enact the bachelor party for him, pop out of that cake again so he would know exactly why he and his friends were targeted by Lavender Paige. She would move him to the Vintage Orchid Suites tomorrow night. He would be much easier to dispose of from there. Besides, Lavender really should be the one to get rid of him. Then she could disappear without a trace. Who would ever know? Elinore cleaned up the dinner dishes, straightened the kitchen and living room and went to bed. It wouldn’t do to look bedraggled at the office tomorrow.

*****

In the morning Elinore showered and dressed in her perfect black and white work clothes. She popped in on the sleeping prince charming and gave him an injection guaranteed to give him at least eight hours more undisturbed sleep. She’d be home in plenty of time to dress him and get him ready to move before he knew what hit him. When she went to The Wizard’s Book Store and Apothecary later that morning, the closed sign was on the door. Elinore was sure Heather had got her message. She drove over to the Salvation Army and purchased an outfit for Roy and some high heels that looked like they’d fit him. No one would think twice when she entered the Orchid Suites with a slightly inebriated girlfriend on her arm. The doorman was paid well enough to keep a closed mouth and an open mind. By three in the afternoon Elinore was on her way back to her apartment to dress Roy-turnedRoberta to go to the Orchid Suites. He should be weak enough from lack of food by tonight, rendering him totally under her control. Oh how she loved it when plans came together so perfectly and so easily.

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Chapter Thirty-Two

The mail had already arrived when Heather went to open the front door of the bookstore. How clever of Mr. Wizard, she thought. The slot in the door, which was illegal to install nowadays, had been grandfathered in under the old law, so Mr. Wizard had concocted a mail sack of sorts to allow lettersized mail to be deposited through the slot. Although the oversized envelopes and packages still necessitated a trip to the post office, if they didn’t come by United Parcel or some other delivery service instead of the post office, it was a great system. If the Post Office couldn’t fit it in the slot they gave her a yellow card; no yellow cards today that told her she need not make a trip to the post office today. She never minded that, having the mail delivered at the door was great and she didn’t need to be there or have the store opened for them to do it. With letter bombs, Anthrax and the like, she wondered just how safe something like this would be considered. That perhaps, was the reason for making them against the law. Who would want to bomb a bookstore? she thought as she retrieved the mail sack. Heather sorted through the mail pouch and pulled the letter addressed in Roy’s distinctive handwriting to the top. She eyed the slightly bulging envelope. Hmm what secret, what surprise was he sending to me now? she wondered. He always surprised her with cards, small packages and the latest cartoons form the New York Times. He knew instinctively what would tickle her funny bone or make her day. It was that bond they had that she hadn’t found a word for yet. She carefully slit the envelope open so as not to damage the bulky interior. The bulky page was folded several times. Cut and paste, anagram-looking pages made Heather chuckle in amusement. What next dear brother, and when did you have time for such playfulness? But as she unfolded the page, things began to creep into her senses that indicated all was not well with this note. It wasn’t a joke or some frivolous party invitation. I have Roy. Stay out of the purple feather murder investigation if you ever want to see him again alive. Tell no one! Dead birds sing no songs… the ominous note threatened. Heather dropped the note like it had burned her fingers, like the edge was so sharp it had cut her. The cut out words and letters marched across the page in a variety of colors, nearly all of them shades of purple, the font styles and shapes neatly ordered, methodical, her mind said. Her hand shook uncontrollably. She picked up the note from the desktop where it had fallen. The letter trembled so that she nearly couldn’t read what it

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said. What was she to do, who could she bounce this off to see what she should do? She didn’t dare involve the police, not yet. Chief Grueder, no way. Could she dare involve Langdon—he was still in the hospital—but what could he do? If she told her mother, she would put her in a hospital bed right next to Langdon. In a stunned daze, Heather turned the open sign back to closed. No way would she open the store today, at least not until she figured out who sent the note and what she needed to do about it. Where could Roy possibly be? Who, if anyone, was holding him hostage? The tarot cards! They always seemed to answer her questions, maybe they could…wait, and she had to be sure Roy wasn’t at home or at his office. She called his home first. “Not here, be back soon. You know what to do and how to do it. So at the tone…” the familiar voice said. Then she slowly dialed his office number all the while praying he would answer. “Good morning, Highmark Associates. Ginny speaking. How may I help you?” the soft female voice purred at the other end of the line. “Ginny, this is Heather. Is Roy in yet?” “Not here yet. I haven’t heard from him since you guys went on that retreat.” “No? Do you have any idea when he will be in?” Heather asked, hoping that Ginny would have an answer for when. “No idea. He has a ten o’clock appointment, so I would imagine he would be here by then. Shall I have him call you?” “Yes, if you would please. He hasn’t called you or anything this morning has he?” “Nope, sorry. Is something wrong Heather?” Ginny asked, a pensive note in her voice. “I’m not sure, I… Just have him get in touch with me if—I mean, when you hear from him, will you?” Heather was very concerned. She didn’t dare call her mother because she would then be worried too. There was no reason to yet. Roy may just be off doing something and didn’t bother telling anyone of his plans, no reason to sound the alarm; at least until she was sure just what was going on. She had never felt so alone in all her life. Perhaps a long drive…you know it’s irresponsible not to open the store. You could lose sorely needed customers, her left-brain argued with her unreasonable right brain. Langdon, she had to run this by Langdon. He was in no shape to help her, but maybe he could help her sort through her options. On second thought, he was bound to insist she turn the note over to the PD and she was sure he’d tell Chief Grueder. The only thing she could do was sit tight and try to feel or, maybe sense what she could from the note.

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Across one section of print there was a part of a publication name and a partial number. What if she could lift the larger chunks and identify the source? Would she be able to find an account number, a publication name, or a subscriber data base trail she could use to help lead to the kidnapper? If the person used their own magazines, it could have left a paper trail. It was worth a try. And yet, she stopped short of trying. What if she did? What if in the process she destroyed any possibility the police had of lifting fingerprints from the paper? If she was to find a partial magazine, publication name, or account number, she wasn’t equipped to do as an effective search as the police were. The tarot cards and her own sixth sense were the only abilities she owned and trusted; the only thing she could possibly count on to help find Roy. She went to the back room and prepared to use the cards to discover what they could tell her. It was imperative that she took her time and really centered herself. She needed to formulate her question perfectly. Heather pulled out paper and pen to write her question down; she was leaving nothing to chance. Something caught her eye at the front of the store; she adjusted her eyes to focus beyond the beaded curtained doorway. It was Elinore Muich peering in through the front window. She smiled smugly at the closed sign; made a gesture that told Heather she was glad the store was closed. How odd, she thought. Why would The Wizard’s being closed delight her? Heather wasn’t about to open the door for her anyway. She had a major problem to deal with; she wasn’t in any frame of mind to tiptoe and sidestep with the likes of Elinore Muich today. She watched as Elinore got back in her car and drove off. Heather drew her focus back to her Tarot deck and her question. “Tell me what I need to know to find my brother, Roy,” she wrote on the paper. An image of Elinore Muich flashed before her eyes. She discounted it and pushed it out of her thoughts as having been the sight of her peering elatedly through the store window earlier. It must have stuck in her mind for some reason. She needed to shake loose from that in order to see and hear the answer to her question. A quote she read and often recalled from Sanaya Roman came into her mind. ‘All you need to do to receive guidance is ask for it and then listen. Stop thinking and talking about it and there is nothing you will not be able to know.’ The old Zen paradigm rolled across her mind on the heels of Roman’s quote. Slowly and deliberately she shuffled the cards. The first cut revealed the seven of pentacles; assessment, direction change, reward; it seemed to tell her nothing the quote had not already said.

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She laid out the cards in the Celtic Cross, allowing her mind to float freely as she did. When she finished she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating all her energies on a picture of Roy. At various times it had seemed to her that she and her brother shared a telepathic bond, there that was the word she searched for earlier; a telepathic bond is what they seemed to have.

If she could

concentrate hard enough, if he was thinking of her, perhaps she could connect and see where he was being held. From its sixth position the page of wands whispered, you don’t have to handle everything yourself. The four of pentacles said ego, wanting to control everything, blocking the flow. As the cards revealed themselves, Heather realized that her lack of self-will in trying to withhold things from the police, from Langdon, and from her own realization had caused the problems that now faced her. If she had done things differently, Roy might be safe now. The four of cups called her, to go within to find your motivation, let go and feel, hear and seek the help you need. Heather cleared the tarot deck and replaced it in the silk cloth. She moved to the soft cushioned chair where she would sometimes come to sit and meditate during her lunch break. She envisioned herself feeding energy down through her body, down through the souls of her feet. Red arrows signified the path as she concentrated on her breathing. The return energy from the earth, up through her body, was a cosmic energy flow through the top of her head. The red and blue arrows seemed to travel harmoniously, their colors mixing, blending subtly, and turning in to a purple haze. It created a balance, an increased feeling of well being, at the same time the purple haze lingered. The phone’s shrill sharpness shattered the haze and her concentration as she jolted back to the present. The intenseness of her visualization, her concentrated listening, disappeared in a puff as the jangle of the ringing telephone sounded urgent and she reached out for it. It was Roy’s secretary. She hadn’t seen or heard from Roy yet. Catherine had called looking for him, as did several other people. “Did you call Sandy to see if he was with her?” “Yes, but she said she hadn’t heard from him since he left to go to the retreat with you and Catherine.” A chill washed across Heather’s shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered to get in touch with his girlfriend since he returned. That was truly out of character. “Well, I’d suggest giving him another twenty-four hours. But with all the goings-on with the Rec. League players lately, you might want to alert Chief Grueder that he hasn’t shown up. I’ll do some checking on my own. Thing is, if he’s just doing one of his things and I sic the cops or someone on him, he’s going to be really pissed at me.”

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Ginny agreed to call Chief Grueder anyway. He could be angry with her if he wanted, but she wasn’t one to shy away when he would need reminding that he had acted irresponsibly toward his clients. If he was simply being a no show, for whatever reason, that was unacceptable. That was one way to get the police looking for him, Heather reasoned, without her being involved. Whoever pieced together that note couldn’t blame her if the police became involved. It wasn’t her interfering— it was his secretary. Heather thought back on the tarot cards. She needed to go see Langdon and try to elicit his help without involving the PD. It was a long shot, but one she needed to take.

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Chapter Thirty-Three

Just how he was going to be able to help Heather, Langdon wasn’t sure. He listened to her tell him what she knew, what she felt and what the tarot cards had said. “But you can’t involve the police,” she said. The look on her face made him ache inside. He wanted to hold her, console her, but he couldn’t even if she would let him. If she wasn’t so darn stubborn, he thought. He took the note from her trembling hand, being careful not to add his fingerprints to the mélange that might be on the note or envelope already. “You know we should have the forensic guys go over this with a fine-toothed comb. They might be able to come up with something we could use to find Roy,” he said, looking at the perfect placement of the cut out letters. To him it said methodical; probably a woman. “Absolutely not, you promised you would help me on my terms,” Heather said, reaching out to snatch the letter away from him. He pulled it back. “Okay, take it easy. I’m telling you what we should do. Are you getting any vibes, or whatever it is you get from evidence—visions—whatever?” “I haven’t. I’m not sure…but it could be because I’m so agitated about the whole thing. What do you think?” Langdon wanted her to know he thought it was a woman because that might help them narrow down exactly who it might be. “Would you know any women who might be strong enough, vindictive enough, to want to harm Roy?” he asked, watching Heather’s face as she ran profiles through whatever filters were in her head. “I don’t know any of his clients. Socially, there’s Sandy, but she’s in love with him; you know that as well as I do. Matter-of-fact, you probably know more about his social life than I do.”

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“For some reason I doubt this letter would be from a social contact. The truth is, and I don’t mean to scare you, but it seems more directed at you. Like you know something, or you’re getting too close with this purple feather investigation.” Heather sat wide-eyed, staring off into space. Langdon could almost see the wheels turning, the numbers added on the adding machine for that matter tape in her brain as she manipulated what she new with what she thought, with the information he had just given her. “I don’t know, I keep seeing the shadow of a face in a purple haze over the murdered victims, but I can’t clear it up. I can’t connect it to anyone or anything else I know.” “A purple haze?” Langdon questioned. “As in fog—what?” “The only way I can describe it is like a haze that hangs over a river on a crisp, calm fall morning. The way it hangs suspended between the coolness of the air above and the warmness of the water below, leaving what’s below visible as well as what’s above clearly, crisply visible. The fog between, the haze, is opaque. He could see her eyes sort of glaze over as she visualized what she had seen, forming the complete picture again in her mind. “Elinore Muich,” she said. Langdon snapped his attention to the name. “What does she have to do with this?” he asked. “Who?” Heather said, as though she hadn’t realized she had spoken anything, let alone a name. He wondered if she had put herself in a trance and didn’t know that she had blurted out Elinore’s name. “Elinore Muich. You just said Elinore Muich,” he said. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just remembered she was to come to the store to pick up another book I ordered for her today. I better get back,” she said as she snatched the letter from Langdon’s hand. “Thanks for listening. I’ll come by again tomorrow and see if you’ve come to any conclusions we can use. When are they turning you loose?” she asked, almost as an after thought, folding the note and putting it back in the envelope and then stuffing it into her purse. She pulled her car keys out and turned to leave, not waiting for an answer. She blurted out, “You take care. Remember, not a word to the Chief or anyone—you promised.” “I know, but don’t you do anything foolish. You could wind up getting both you and Roy killed. That person, woman or man, is unstable—perhaps psychotic—and a very real danger.” “I’ll be careful,” she said and left him sitting with his leg up in a sling, ribs still taped, feeling worse than useless. He had the feeling she was on to something. It was as though a light came on in her head when she blurted out Elinore’s name. He supposed it could be as she said—she remembered the appointment, the book she ordered—but his gut told him it was more. He rang for the nurse.

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“I need to get out of here now!” he said to her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with the doctor,” the nurse said. “Then get him because I’m checking myself out now.” He had to get out before Heather did something stupid. When the nurse left his room, he tried to get his leg out of the apparatus that held his leg up in the sling. He fell back onto his pillows as the pain in his rib cage got to be too much. The doctor and the nurse rushed back in together, she with a syringe and the doctor with a stern determined look on his face. “If you move that leg now, you will destroy all our work. You have to wait for those pins to set and the healing to start before you can leave. If you don’t, you’ll be crippled for the rest of your life.” Langdon weighed his options. His best friend was missing and in terrible danger, he was sure of that. The woman he would like to claim as his own and take care of for the rest of her life was desperate enough to do something stupid. Someone had tried to kill him in his hospital bed and he had no choice but to lie still and let whatever happens happen. What good would it do if he crippled himself and couldn’t help Heather or Roy anyway? He’d have to figure out some other way to help them. He held up his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. But when?” “If all goes well, two days, tops. We’ll get you into a cast and a wheelchair; crutches will be impossible until your ribs are healed more.” The doctor nodded to the nurse and she turned him enough to plunge the syringe into his right butt cheek. The calming effect, the pain free fog hazed his mind and echoed Heather’s word—eased him out of the agitation he’d worked himself into. He would call Chief Grueder as soon. As soon as he… Sleep was thick and overpowering as it swallowed him. Dark, dreamless sleep.

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Chapter Thirty-Four

While she had been talking to Langdon, Heather got the distinct impression it was imperative that she check out Elinore Muich. She hadn’t really ordered a book from Heather, but seeing the woman’s delight over the bookstore’s closed sign suddenly seemed more than significant. It seemed a portent, like some ominous prediction she couldn’t shake. Smith, Smith, and Muich were only open until three and Elinore left precisely at three everyday. Heather knew this from previous experience but she asked anyway. The security guard told her the offices were closed to visitors for the day and that the staff, including Ms. Muich, was on their way out for the day. Heather thanked him and walked back to her car. She drove down the block to wait for Elinore’s car to pass by. Today Ms. Muich would have a tail. Heather wanted to see where she lived. She wanted to ring her doorbell and surprise her with a visit. She thumbed through the book she had brought as a cover, the reason she would have stopped at Elinore Muich’s home. Until she was sure what she was dealing with, she didn’t want to offend or put Elinore in a guarded position. Heather didn’t have long to wait before Elinore’s white Porsche drove past. She pulled out into traffic a good distance behind Elinore. She followed her through town and out to the Vintage Orchid Suites. Heather drove past and waited to watch Elinore walk into the suites. The doorman apparently knew her well, judging from the length and animation of their conversation before she entered the building. Heather parked her car and approached the doorman, wondering what she would need to tell him in order to gain entrance. As it turned out he was more of a courtesy than a security appointment. He smiled at Heather and opened the door for her with nothing more than, “Good afternoon, Miss.” Heather breathed a sigh of relief. She paused at the mailboxes and read the names. There was no Elinore Muich, E. Muich, or anything in any combination that could be Elinore. She must be visiting someone then, Heather thought.

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She was puzzled. If she did just come to visit, she must come often for the doorman to be so friendly with her. Heather had no choice but to go home, or wait to see if she left soon and then follow her once more to wherever she would go next. She walked back out to her car and sat watching the door. What if Elinore was meeting a guy and decided to spend the night? Heather could be there all night waiting for her. She had no choice, she would wait. Heather was puzzled. Elinore had to at least be a regular visitor to the Orchid Suites judging from the exchange between her and the doorman and the other couple that came in while they chatted. She compared her exchange with the doorman to that of Elinore’s and decided she definitely was a regular there in one shape or another. So what? People had lives that didn’t revolve around their corporate side, she chastened her nagging mind chatter. Heather thought perhaps she would go back and talk with the doorman to see if he would tell her who Elinore was visiting. As she walked across the street, the blonde who had been at Candy’s Sweets the night Collier Downs was murdered, came out of the Orchid Suites. “Can I flag you a cab Ms. Paige?” the doorman asked. “Thank you Henry, that would be wonderful,” she replied. Her voice sounded very familiar. Heather turned down the street so the woman wouldn’t see her face. She waited until the cab pulled away from the curb. She heard Ms. Paige say a number on Main Street which Heather knew was a district where hookers and prostitutes hung out. She slipped back into the building while the doorman helped someone disembark from a limousine. She needed another look at those mail boxes. Ms. Paige—Lavender Paige it read on the mailbox. She ran her finger over the name plate. A sharp pang hit her finger like a bolt out of the blue. Elinore Muich; Lavender Paige. The woman known as Lavender Paige by the doorman looked for all the world like a blonde Elinore Muich. Were they sisters, relatives of some sort? If so, why didn’t they leave together? Did Lavender have a child that Elinore would be babysitting for, or perhaps an elderly parent or some other relative of some sort? Lavender hardly seemed the mother type, nor did Elinore seem the babysitting type, no matter how close the relative. Where was Lavender going at this time of night? Angry because she didn’t follow Lavender, she vowed to come back tomorrow and follow her if, or when, she left the building again. Going after Lavender after the cab had probably already dropped her off, didn’t seem like a good idea. What if she never stayed at that destination? It would do Heather little good to go there looking for her. If she didn’t go out, Heather would go in and ring the door bell to surprise her, pretending to look for Elinore Good plan. She congratulated herself. Should she tell Langdon or Chief Grueder what she had seen? She wondered what she would tell him that Elinore knows a Lavender that lives on the

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thirteenth floor, the thirteenth suite at the Vintage Orchid Suites—so what? No, she needed something more than a premonition she needed something concrete.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

It was early enough in the morning that the homicide detectives’ room was still a quiet buzz while doughnuts, coffee, last nights excursions, assignments and note comparing floated about the room. Heather walked through the quiet bedlam virtually unnoticed, though many of the detectives should have recognized her from other cases she had helped them solve. She could feel their eyes on her back as she walked toward the chief’s office. Heather wanted to turn around and scream ‘what?’ at them, but she held her calm and walked slowly, deliberately to the chief’s door. She tapped lightly on Chief Grueder’s door. He opened the door and ushered her in. “Glad you could come by, I need your help,” he said. It was not the first time he had started a conversation that way. He looked like he hadn’t had any sleep in days and seemed as pale as uncooked white bread dough, and just as pasty. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Yes, but not really.” He paused, looking harried and worried. He raked his hands through his hair as he stood looking out the window. He turned to face her, his eyes black, tiny beads of hot coals. “Where’s Roy?” he asked. Heather thought his abruptness uncharacteristic. What? No small talk. Why? she wondered. Immediately she thought perhaps Langdon had told the chief about her threatening note and he wanted to see the note—or at least have her tell him about it. “I really don’t know Chief,” she said, watching his face for some hint of where this was going. What was he really asking? “We need to know where Roy is. Please don’t try to protect him. This is serious.” “Chief Grueder, believe me, if I knew where he was, I would tell you. Did Langdon—?” “Langdon is suspended without pay until we get to the bottom of this,” he interrupted Heather’s question abruptly. “Mother said you called her. She was frantic that I dragged Roy into something. I have no idea where he is.” Heather opened her purse, pulled out the note she had received and handed it to Chief Grueder. “I wish I knew where he was, honest.”

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Tears began to slide down her cheeks, the harder she tried to suppress them the more they fell in wet plops, darkening the light blue of her slacks where they landed. She searched her purse for a tissue, finding none she reached for one from atop Chief Grueder’s bulging file cabinet. He examined the envelope and carefully pulled its contents out onto his desk using a pencil eraser rather than his fingers. Carefully, he used a pen and the pencil to open the letter fully. There was complete silence while he read, his face even more grim as Heather watched him read the note. When he looked up his mood hadn’t softened.

“Who addressed the envelope?

Do you recognize the

handwriting?” Heather hesitated. His tone was accusing, like maybe she had concocted the letter herself. “I don’t…I couldn’t tell you,” she said. Rephrasing her answer made her feel less like a liar. She got the feeling she was better off not telling him it was Roy’s handwriting. Besides everyone always said his writing was too controlled, too precise. It was not a man’s handwriting. “What’s wrong, Chief?” Heather asked slowly, deliberately focusing all her attention on reading the man and what he wasn’t saying. Chief Grueder sat back in his desk chair, made a pyramid out of his fingers and pressed the index fingers to his lips, all the while eyeing Heather. He rocked his chair back on its back legs and sat there, his dark eyed penetrating gaze started to work on Heather. “What is this all about? Why, suddenly, are Roy and Langdon in trouble?” Chief Grueder bounced forward on the chair and slammed his palms down on the desktop, startling Heather. “Damn it. I’ll ask the questions,” he said with such force it made her wince. “I’ve been willing to help you and I have, at every turn. Why suddenly am I being treated like a common criminal?” It was Heather’s turn to be angry now. She didn’t like being treated like an errant, catholic schoolgirl by the Holy Father. Where did he get off treating her like this? She was ready to leave. She stood prepared to walk out. “If you find any fingerprints or any clues on that note, I’d be very interested since it specifically instructs me not to come here. I may have just killed my brother.” “Well, since we have uncovered evidence that links your brother to several of the murders, I highly doubt he’s in any real danger. I think this whole note business is a hoax—a set up! I only hope you’re not part of it.” Heather nearly fell back into her chair. “Evidence?” The word hit her like a punch in the gut. “What evidence?” “I’m not at liberty to disclose that, you know that,” he said, his tone softer now.

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“You have known both Roy and I for long as…well, nearly forever. Can you honestly believe Roy would have anything to do with something as heinous as these murders?” “I’ve suspected it was someone from the Rec. League all along. I just couldn’t put my finger on whom. Funny things happen to change people sometimes. It could have happened to Roy too.” “This is crazy!” Heather said. “We have to check every angle,” Chief Grueder said. “I have nothing to tell you. You have the note, which was mailed to me. I believe Roy is in danger. Unless I’m under arrest I’m leaving now,” she said. Heather couldn’t believe what he was saying. Chief Grueder had been like a father to her and Roy since their father left when Roy was only seven years old. How could he believe…? She imagined he had seen so much bizarre stuff throughout all the years he’d been a cop that it had started to prejudice his judgment. Langdon being suspended without pay blew her mind. That was nearly as crazy as suspecting Roy. As Heather crawled into the hot car she settled back into the seat and let the heat penetrate her body, pushing the air-conditioned chill from her bones. She hated air conditioning ever since she was locked in that meat locker for two hours. Another unthankful favor for the local police. They had her help find the rustlers that were robbing meat lockers. Whoever heard of rustlers rustling dead cattle? When the police slipped up and the crooks left her behind to freeze to death…that was another time, another place. She would never forget the feeling of being nearly frozen nearly to death like some slab of meat on a hook. Warmth finally started to reach into her bones. She opened her eyes and started the car. She needed to help Roy. He’s innocent–I know he’s innocent. He may be fighting for his life right now. Slamming down on the accelerator, pressing it to the floor, she shot out of the parking spot and down the street. Langdon must have some idea what they needed to do; how to start looking for Roy. Surely he would help her. She was also interested in his take on Chief Grueder’s sudden change of attitude.

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Chapter Thirty-Six

The warmth of the sun-heated car may have warmed Heather’s air-conditioned chilled bones, but nothing could warm the cold panic gripping her heart. Her conversation earlier with her mother ripped through her insides anew, like a giant cat claw. “This is all your fault… If Roy is killed, you pulled the trigger… Always an instigator; you and your sick crazy visions… I should have had you committed years ago when they told me you were a clairvoyant or psychic, and as such, a menace to yourself and society.” Heather could hardly see through the tears. Her mother’s hateful diatribe had sucked from deep inside where she buried the years of hurt from her mother’s barbed tongue. She didn’t feel her foot pressing harder and harder on the accelerator as she whipped in and out of traffic, changing lanes with each obstruction; cutting people off without being aware she had. The sound of distant sirens yanked her back to the here and now, except they weren’t distant. As she glanced to her left she saw the police officer motioning her to the shoulder of the road. Heather’s insides turned to a volcano and the sudden eruption of molten lava became thousands of millipedes running through her insides, everyone of them in combat boots. She pulled over to the side of the road, slid the gear shift into park and watched in her driver’s side view mirror as the officer approached her car. Panic overtook her as she watched his sashaying stride toward her car. She slammed the car in gear and trounced the gas pedal, spitting gravel back at the officer as she struggled to maintain control of the fish-tailing vehicle. Trying to ease it back up on to the black top without flipping it over, she eased up on the gas and pulled on to the highway where she floored it again. Now she was an escapee and she knew that cops radios were faster than her car. Whatever had possessed her? She would have to get off the road and out of sight quickly because now she would more than likely be arrested, not only ticketed. A speeding or erratic driving fine would have been a lot less than evading or resisting an officer. This charge now would be way more than she was prepared to deal with. How could she be so stupid?

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Chief Grueder saying Roy committed those murders had pushed all the wrong buttons. How could he believe Roy would be party to such a thing? What clues did he have, what evidence against Roy? What if Roy was killed now because she went to the police? Her mother would disown her, now she had just kicked her out of the house—with nothing. If the police caught up with her now, she’d be put in jail for certain. ‘Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars’. The card of Chance from the game of Monopoly sang in her head. Never won at that either, she thought. What was she going to do? She circled down under the freeway, down into the manufacturing district, past the railroad stock yards. She remembered being in the sixth grade and visiting the stock yards as part of a science field trip. The fact that her teacher was a vegetarian didn’t mean anything to her until years later. When she realized her motive behind the field trip it was too late to negate the visions she had. The stench of the stock yards, fear and sweat of the cattle mixed with the smell of manure. The bawl of the soon-to-be-slaughtered cattle crammed like sardines in a can, into tiny corrals barely big enough for half their number. When she got home from school that day she couldn’t seem to shower the stench of blood, guts and cow manure from her body and hair. She showered twice and was still sick to her stomach from the odor she imagined still clung to her. She felt as though she had somehow been responsible for the animals deaths. Like Roy’s… Was she somehow responsible for her brother’s blood. Would the stench of his death be going to forever haunt her? Heather shuddered at the thought as she threaded her way deeper into the bowels of the city. The sirens had stopped long ago; long shadows cast themselves from one side of the street, across the street and halfway up the buildings on the other side. She had to get through here; she couldn’t be here at night—not a white woman alone. Streetlights began to glower as their sensors felt the daylight slip away. The clang of iron barred windows and gates closing out intruders from store fronts jarred Heather’s every heartbeat, seeming to snap onto her already jangled nerves. She quickened her speed; darting pedestrians shook fists, hands and finger gestures at her as she tried to push her way through the rush for home and safety of those stuck in the center of the city with their day jobs. Just a few more blocks and she would be out on the other side, she told herself, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. She needed to get to Langdon’s. They wouldn’t be watching for her there, would they? She would have to be careful weaving her way back through the city to Langdon’s. His release the hospital, suspended without pay, but she needed to see him now. “A red light! Oh no, not a red light…not here,” she said. She touched the automatic door lock button and heard the reassuring thud indicating all doors were locked. It wouldn’t keep her hubcaps and tires on, but it would keep her somewhat safe. She felt the car rock. Several young men were pushing

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on the side of her car, rocking it. Her gaze darted around, looking for a street sign. Which way did she need to go when the light changed? ‘Main Street’ the little white and black sign read. Why wait for the light to change, she needed a cop—now! No matter how much trouble she was already in, this could be much worse. This could mean her life. Several more young men blocked her forward movement. She slipped the gearshift into reverse and pressed on the accelerator. Someone smashed into her headlight with a baseball bat. The sound of breaking glass struck icy chalkboard fingers down the length of her spine. She pulled the car into drive and inched forward, pushing bodies as she went. Angry shouts, baseball bat to the rear window now; she ducked instinctively and pressed harder on the gas pedal. No one would blame her if she ran them down—would they? Self-defense they’d say—wouldn’t they? Heather saw hookers hustling down Main Street; she pushed the horn and started yelling for help. Several of the women shouted at the men as they surrounded her car. One of the women shouted something to the man pushing Heather’s car, threatening to overturn it. They shouted back but stopped short of going any farther to harass Heather. They took off running as several men jumped from a vehicle and trotted in Heather’s direction. She recognized the blonde who had started the group toward her car in the first place. It was Lavender Paige. How did Lavender know her; why would she help her? Before the undercover cops reached her car in their pursuit of the vandals, Heather gunned the engine and shot through the light heading North on Main Street as fast as she could travel. With nowhere to go since her mother told her to leave and not return, Heather sped towards Sandy’s. She was far enough removed from the city limits that Heather should be able to stay with her until she figured out what to do next—if Sandy would have her, that is. At this point Heather was afraid to speculate about anything. Getting to Sandy’s house would be a lot easier than getting to Langdon’s without being spotted at this juncture. She pulled onto the dark dirt road behind Sandy’s house. There weren’t any lights on at her house. Heather checked her watch. It was nearly eleven. Maybe Sandy was already in bed, or worse yet, maybe she had gone out for the evening. Heather walked around the side of the garage and peered in through the lone window. Sandy’s car was in the garage. Heather breathed a sigh of relief, at least one thing was working in her favor today. Watching her footing in the half glow of the moonlight, Heather crept between the house and the garage. When she reached the back door, she began to pound furiously. “Sandy! Sandy!” she called. Soon a light came on over her head and she raised her face so Sandy could see clearly who she was. She saw a light go on inside and heard door locks being unlatched.

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“Heather?” she said, flinging the metal storm-screen door open. Heather grabbed her in a bear hug and started to rattle off about Roy being a murder suspect, the trouble down on Main Street, her mother kicking her out, and Lavender Paige rescuing her. Her arm around Heather’s shoulder, Sandy pulled her into the kitchen. “Calm down, come in here. Let’s start at the beginning.” Heather suddenly felt exhausted. “I don’t know where the beginning is anymore,” she said. “Roy’s a fugitive, I’m a fugitive and Langdon’s been suspended without pay. I think I want to go back to bed yesterday and try this day again.” Sandy poured two mugs of hot water from her Culligan® hot/cold water machine and pulled two bags of tea from a canister. “It sounds like that may be the only way to come out on top of this day. Lemon herbal,” she said by way of explanation as she plopped the tea bags in the water. “Cream, sugar?” she asked. “No…not with herbal tea. Just straight.” Heather wished it was vodka, or at least scotch after the day from hell she had just been through. “I got stopped for speeding, or reckless driving, or both. But I panicked and took off before the officer got the ticket written. Hell, I took off even before he got to the car.” “You what?” Sandy said, disbelief widened her eyes in a look of incredulity. She chuckled and shook her head. “Okay start from…this morning. You made it to work fine, right?” “Oh, yes, before ten the world was a fun place. Then my mother called and the kaka hit the fan, so to speak.” Heather went into detail about her mother kicking her out of the house, and probably disowning her by now. She told her about the phone call and subsequent visit to Chief Grueder’s office; the Chief’s accusation of Roy and news of Langdon’s suspension. She recounted her fleeing an officer of the law into the clutches of an inner city gang, then being rescued by prostitutes and undercover cops and finally winding up on Sandy’s doorstep. The telling took several cups of tea and nearly a box of tissues before Heather was able to relate the events of her day to Sandy. “Does Langdon know what the police have supposedly uncovered about Roy?” Sandy asked. “Since he hasn’t been able to work, and now he’s been suspended, I doubt he would know any more than we do, but he certainly may have some contacts he can use to find out.” “Then our first move in the morning should be getting hold of Langdon. Is he still in the hospital?” “I think he’s been released. I haven’t spoken to him.”

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Heather thought about the bookstore. She really couldn’t afford to not have it open, but she didn’t dare go in. The police were bound to be watching for her there. “Would you consider working The Wizard’s for me tomorrow while I go talk to Langdon?” She explained how several customers were expecting their orders and she couldn’t afford to miss them. She was certain she would be arrested if she went in, which would do Roy no good at all. Sandy agreed. They both turned in for a couple hours sleep before they could put their plans into motion.

*****

The sky boiled with dark billowing storm clouds. Sheet lightening glowed in neon paths through the clouds where they scraped past each other, rushing to some other destination. The intense heat and stillness of the earth radiated a smothering moistness. Bolts of intense yellow, jagged spears shot at the ground as though Zeus himself threw them. Heather shuddered inwardly as Mother Nature unleashed her anger on the parched earth below. Leafless crags of gnarled tree branches begged with pleading arms for mercy and moisture to sustain its life. She could almost hear its prayer beside her own. Heather found herself outside a place where she was allowed a view through a window at Roy. Pain contorted his face.

His eyes wild with terror saw something she couldn’t see.

What was

happening? She wanted to scream out to him that she was there, but no sound would come from her lips. He fell back against the pillow, his eyes open in a dead man’s stare. “No!” She heard her scream bounce against the glass of the window as pieces of Roy separated from his body and moved away, twisting and turning as if in time to some manic piano player. A purple haze encircled him and then hovered overhead. Heather’s heart felt gripped by an owl’s talons. She felt as though it was being ripped from her chest. Then an evil feminine laugh burst through the purple haze, scattering it into a million shard-like missiles flying in all directions. Roy blinked his eyes. “Heather,” he pleaded. Blackness surrounded her. She sensed movement, as though she had been whisked away on powerful wings to another place and time. Langdon’s voice came through the black and pulled her ever closer. He flew through a thundercloud past her and fell in a heap at her feet. As he reached up to her with one hand, the fingers of that hand, then the wrist, then the forearm, snapped. Crushed and broken one at a time, they fell back to him.

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Her screams tore through more purple haze. The face of a woman appeared, forming above him out of the haze. It was a face she recognized, it was a familiar profile, then it turned to face her. It was her. An evil laugh echoed like a thunderstorm caught in a tin box. She awoke drenched in the sweat of her nightmare, or was it visions of what was to come to pass? Heather went into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. She looked at the clock; an eerie green glow like witches eyes blinked off and on. The storm must have been real and knocked out the power. She fumbled for the doorknob of her room. Being a stranger in Sandy’s house, she didn’t know where she would find a flashlight or candle to light her way. She felt along the wall toward what she hoped was the stairwell. If she could find her way to the kitchen, the gas stove was operated with pilot lights; a burner could shed some light perhaps. Heather remembered seeing a group of candles on the side table by the back door. Cautiously she felt for the banister and the stairway. She found it and took the first cautious step downward. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. Hang on tight to the railing. She’d be okay. She had to be okay. She had to find Roy and now Langdon, too. They both appeared to be in grave danger. Heather slid her foot out looking or the next step; there was none. The first floor, solid under her feet. She breathed in a deep sigh. So far so good. Apparently not all the power was out, or else Sandy had one of the new battery lights in an outlet that lit up in case of power failure. A small glow showed her a clear path to the kitchen doorway. A knot between her shoulder blades told her she had been holding herself back, tense and fearful. There was nothing sinister in the house. She was safe. Trying to convince herself that what she had dreamed was just that, a dream, she found the kitchen sink and a glass on the drain board on the counter. She poured herself a glass of water and sat down at the table. Time. What time was it? And why should it matter? Thunder growled and grumbled low and far away. Was the storm leaving or another approaching? she wondered. She held her watch near the glowing small light from the outlet. Four-twenty, too early to stay up and yet she dreaded falling asleep again in case the nightmare returned. Sandy had a nice leather recliner that seemed to beckon to her. She decided she could relax without falling asleep and that would be just as good. Perhaps she could meditate. That would be as good, or better than another fitful hour or two of sleep. Heather sank into the supple softness of the leather chair; it seemed to embrace her. Contentedness replaced her anxiety and she began clearing her mind, meditating. Morning would come and everything would be fine. Believe it, she told herself.

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Sandy shaking her shoulder was her next and very welcome sensation.

*****

She dropped Sandy at the bookstore with the keys and drove on to Langdon’s as pink and amethyst threads of sunrise erased the remnants of the nightmare and the storm clouds.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Langdon backed his wheelchair away from the door to give Heather room to enter his apartment. Her heart gave a slight skip seeing the macho man, attitude man, reduced to a wheelchair, cast and bandages. “You look ready to run a marathon,” she teased, more to sooth her own uneasy feelings than to make light of his predicament. “Believe it or not, I’m feeling much better now that I’m home. That hospital was enough to make a person sick.” Heather laughed she knew what he meant. She hated hospitals herself. He rolled the wheelchair toward the kitchen. “Coffee, tea, anything?” Following him to the kitchen, “Coffee, if you’ve got some made, otherwise don’t bother. I can only stay a bit. I’m a fugitive,” she said. Langdon’s head snapped around as he turned the chair around and sat staring at her. “You’re a what?” he said. “I ran away from a cop trying to write me up for—I don’t know, speeding? Driving recklessly? I really couldn’t say. He was a bit miffed when I didn’t stick around to find out.” He shook his head and continued into the kitchen. He pulled two coffee mugs from a mug tree and put them on the table before he commented further. “Turn yourself in,” he said. “It will go easier on you if you do.” Heather retrieved the coffee pot from the countertop. “Here, let me pour,” she said. She could feel his eyes on her and it caused a twitch, a nervous twitch she decided, inside her because she hated people staring at her. She knew that was only part of the reason. Seeing Langdon in a wheelchair tugged at her caregiver instincts but, more than that, she suddenly wanted to hold him in her arms and protect him from the horror of her nightmare. The heat she felt in her abdomen radiated to the apex of her thighs and she tried to cap the feeling before it showed in her face.

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Why didn’t he say something? Was he waiting for her to say she would turn herself in? Well, it wasn’t going to happen. She needed to find Roy before it was too late. She was not going to let herself be cooped up behind bars when he needed help. “Sorry, no can do,” she said. “I have to find Roy.” Langdon took a slow sip from his coffee mug. “Why not let the police do what they get paid to do?” he said. His attitude was showing again. Maybe it was a guy thing. Police work, investigating was a man thing. How did he manage to work with a woman for a partner? She couldn’t help but wonder if Chief Grueder didn’t deliberately saddle him with a woman partner to teach him a lesson. “The police?” she said, hoping her indignation showed. “They have had ample time. I’ve nearly given them the murderer, and now they turn around and accuse Roy. They think Roy is capable; they think Roy is the murderer, that he plotted this whole thing to make himself look innocent. You’re a fine one to try to make me let the police do their job. You, on suspended leave, with no pay, because you could be a suspect, too.” “Me being suspended is just routine. I’m too close to Roy. It could be aiding and abetting, or conflict of interest at the very least, for me to participate in the investigation—at least in an official capacity.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Come on, let me help. I know Roy is innocent.” “You mean you’re willing to help me try to find Roy?” she asked. Langdon nodded and retrieved a pad of paper from the desk drawer in the kitchen. “Here’s what we know, or strongly suspect so far.” He pushed the yellow legal pad across the table in her direction. Heather ran her finger down the list. “They think the note was pieced together by a woman? Do they suspect Sandy?” “She’s a woman, she’s involved with Roy. But then, so are you, so is your mother.” The thought of her mother being involved in anything as sinister as murder and cover up was too ridiculous to even consider, as was the thought that Sandy might be the culprit. How could this chopped up, pieced together note say a woman did it? she wondered. “Okay, why a woman?” Langdon took another drink of his coffee and sat quietly, as though contemplating his words, for a minute before replying, as though he had rehearsed the answer he was about to give and wanted to be sure he said it just right. “The note is methodically—carefully—plotted and executed with a woman’s precision and attention to size, shape and color.” “I know some men who do needlepoint,” Heather said. All the while in the back of her mind, she kept thinking about the woman in the purple haze. The woman in her own image in that purple fog

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surrounding the victims. And now that vision included Roy and Langdon. Did she dare mention that to him? He knows the Chief believes in her visions, but does that automatically make him a believer? “Well this, from years of experience, has woman written all over it,” he said defensively. “Try this on. You know how Chief Grueder feels about my abilities to see certain things.” Heather paused, feeling the need to proceed with caution. She watched Langdon’s face. If he showed the slightest tendency to mockery or disbelief as Roy did, she would stop there. Langdon surprised her. He nodded his agreement. “Chief Grueder has great faith in your abilities,” he said. “So, have you seen who our mysterious killer might be?” Heather tried to figure out how to frame her answer. Was what she deduced, what she believed based on what her ‘seeing’ and her gut reaction knew, or did she make up her mind and then create the visions to reinforce what she thought was the answer? “Do you know a woman named Paige, Lavender Paige?” “She’s a hooker. Well okay, an expensive prostitute. She has a corner off Main and Sunset, Sequoia—one of those streets. How do you know her?” he asked. “How do you?” she returned the question, feeling slightly miffed that Langdon would have reason or inclination to know a prostitute, even a high class one like Lavender appeared to be. He pulled the list back to his side of the table. A knowing smile graced his lips. She wondered what it felt like to kiss those lips. Many women had and must have found them worth the effort. Having a brother and being classed as one of the guys privileged her to hearing exactly what guys thought of the fairer sex, and she was tired of being the pal instead of being considered a woman worthy of their time, especially Langdon’s time. Instantly embarrassed at her thoughts, she wondered whatever possessed her to… “Vice squad,” he said. “What?” she said, her attention being yanked back to his answer. She had all but forgotten the question. She felt red-hot heat rise from her neck and burn across her cheeks. “The vice squad. We arrested her once or twice for solicitation. Though she’s been warned a few times, we usually let her be. It’s not like she’s an eyesore and we’re after the johns as much as the women—so we need bait. It’s a shame too; she seems like one of the more intelligent women. It seems like she could have a better life.” “Do you know Elinore Muich?” she asked, wondering if he did would he connect the two faces as she had done.

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Langdon put his hand to his mouth and squeezed his lips into a pucker as he thought. “She’s one of the owner’s of that advertising consulting firm over at Wallington Plaza Suites. Smith, Smith and Muich…yeah that’s it. She gets in the paper every once in a while. Matter-of-fact… Never mind. What about her?” he said. Heather wondered what was the matter-or-fact she wasn’t being privy to. “Can’t really say I know her per se,” he continued. “What does she have to do with Lavender Paige?” “Have you ever noticed how much alike they look?” She watched Langdon’s face screw into a thinking mode. She could almost see the snap shots he conjured up of the two sitting beside each other as he studied them in his mind. “Possibly a slight likeness, but as I said, I do not know Elinore. I should say haven’t seen her up close, like when you interrogate someone you really get to see them.” Heather weighted his response with what she knew of him. Chances are the face isn’t the thing he noticed most on Lavender—though it surely would have been on starched, black and white Elinore. “I think they are one and the same,” she said and watched Langdon snap his attention forward. “You’re kid—” He dropped the phrase like a hot potato, like a thought he never thought or didn’t think to think. “You’re not fooling. Do they show up…? I mean she—Elinore…Lavender—in your visions?” “Not really. Let me tell you what happened. For some reason Elinore Muich seemed a prime suspect in my search for Roy. She paid so much attention to him at the retreat we went on,” she began. Langdon nodded. “Ah ha,” he said. “This isn’t jealousy. He’s my brother for crikey sakes,” she shot at him; the words as barbed as the poison darts killing the Rec. League players. “I didn’t mean to imply that,” he said, but his sheepish grin told Heather different. “Anyway, she had a date with him a couple days later. And from what I can deduce, no one has seen or heard from him since.” “Okay. Yes, you told me that. I remember now.” “That isn’t all. I followed Elinore one night. Out of curiosity, you understand.” “I understand you want to know exactly what kind of woman has set her sights on your baby brother.” She sidestepped his remark. “When I followed her she went to the Vintage Orchid Suites.”

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“That’s where Lavender Paige lives,” he said, looking at Heather as though a light suddenly went on in his head. He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Then she lives there too? Or they’re the same person?” “I checked. Elinore lists her address as 935 Chelmsford Drive.” “That’s those solid glass black and chrome executive town houses over in Manor Lake subdivision. So what was she doing at Vintage Orchid?” Heather thought Langdon would probably think her stupid for trying a stake out on her own, but she’d already started to tell him. She may as well finish. She explained that to him and told him about Lavender coming to her rescue after her flight from the law, the dreams, or rather nightmares, she had at Sandy’s about Roy and him. When she finished relaying all the events and terror of the night before to him, she was exhausted. Langdon gingerly stood up and reached out to her. She went to him. His arms felt so strong and safe, but there was no way she’d let him know what he awakened deep inside her. She didn’t dare admit it to herself even. She didn’t know if she trusted herself with what she was feeling. “I am not sure whether I should put stock in that nightmare as a vision, or let it go as a stress-induced release of the day’s tensions,” she said into his chest where she buried her head. The spicy scent of his aftershave mixed with the masculine smell of his body was intoxicating and delicious. What was she thinking? This womanizing egomaniac was preying on her fear for her brother’s life to get her into his arms and probably his bed. She reluctantly tried to push herself free from his embrace. He tilted her chin up to him; his gaze met hers. He leaned down, his lips searching, engulfing hers. His kiss warming her so, she thought her knees would buckle. Langdon’s tongue darted between her teeth meeting hers, gently drawing it into his mouth; his arms wrapped around her, pulling her body closer to his, she could feel his arousal as she melted into his embrace. There was no listening to her mind telling her not to become aroused by him. It was too late as her own dampness seeped into her panties. Langdon’s hands began a slow exploration of her body as he found her breasts, and then began to unbutton the pearl buttons on her blouse as he deepened the kiss that locked them together. Slowly, he backed her toward his bedroom. Heather realized he had ignored the cast and the bandaged ribs as he slid an arm around her waist, the other under her buttocks, slid back into his wheelchair and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped herself into him and let the delicious feeling of his strong arms hold her as he moved to the bed. He eased her down onto the bed and moved onto the bed as he rolled her from his arms. Kissing her throat, pushing the blouse away from her, a half-moan half-sigh escaped her lips. She

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couldn’t deny she wanted him, the dampness between her legs, her core begging for his touch; resistance was no longer an option. She needed him. Langdon unhooked her bra and her breasts nearly leapt into his waiting hands. He caressed one while he suckled the other, his mouth hot and wanting on the hard nub of her breast. Heather felt the draw from below her navel all the way to the hidden reaches of her sex. She hastily pulled Langdon’s tshirt up and ran her fingers over the muscled torso interrupted by the bandages protecting his ribs. He groaned, in pain or lust she wasn’t sure, but the feel of his skin on the palms of her hand heightened her arousal. Running her fingers through the thickness of his sandy blonde hair, she pulled him into her breasts. As he sucked on the hardened buttons her excitement dragged her precariously close to climax. Gently she pushed him, rolling him onto his back. She slid his sweats down over his hips, freeing the essence of his maleness. He moaned, pulling her onto him as he returned to a position over her, sliding her skirt up so that he could slide his fingers into the waistline of her panties, pulling them down over her hips. She helped him get her out of them as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, his tongue once again sparring with her own. “I need you, I want you so bad,” he groaned into her ear as her ground his pelvis into her, allowing his erection to slide up and down between her legs. He stopped and raised himself from her. Heather’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t stop, not now. Not after she had conceded. Not after she was so willing; she reached up to pull him back down on top of her. “Protection,” he sighed as he slid over her and reached into the night stand. A condom. Her mind seized on the thoughtfulness of the move as his mouth swallowed hers again, his hands busy covering his shaft with the thin protective film of the condom. He spread her legs with his knee and teased her clit with gentle fingers. Heather was consumed by his gentle caresses; her juices flowed to greet the two fingers he inserted into her. “I want you,” she whispered. He obliged by sliding into her moist warm tunnel. Heather had never before felt the all consuming release that exploded inside her as Langdon gently rocked inside her and then plunged deep inside as his own climax possessed him. The magic he had worked on her sent wave after wave of relief and satisfaction through her. They collapsed side by side for several more minutes. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” Langdon said, raised up on one elbow, running a finger the length of her face. He leaned over and

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kissed her lips with a tenderness that made her think she’d like to forever wallow in his arms. She kissed him back. “I think you are amazing too,” she said. Heather was at once embarrassed and relieved that she had allowed him to make love to her. “I hope you aren’t angry with me, or think that I took advantage of your fear for Roy, because I’ve wanted you for so long, I couldn’t help myself.” He sounded like a little boy apologizing for his first stolen kiss. Heather smiled. “Not at all, I wanted you too.” She surprised herself with her frankness. They lay in each others arms and talked. He offered her the use of his shower before she put herself back together. “If you need a place to stay until the police quit looking for you, you’re welcome to stay here,” he said to the bathroom door she had left slightly ajar. “I’m going to tail Elinore until she goes to the Vintage Orchid Suites again. Then I’m going to go in and ring Lavender Paige’s doorbell. I want to see who answers the door and what else I might see.” The concern on Langdon’s face caused crow’s feet lines around his eyes, and three deep furrows across his forehead knitted his eyebrows nearly into a single line. “Wait, Heather. That could be dangerous. Why don’t you tell the Chief what you suspect?” “I tried. He is intent on pinning the murders on Roy and that’s okay because at least that way he will intensify a search for him. As a missing person, he was hardly ready to give him a thought, let alone an APB.” He would not stop her from checking out her theory though. What made her even think Langdon would be in a position to give her some help or positive support? Why did he have to go spoil what they just had? “Only because he was short-handed. The murders, the purple feather thing, has really stretched his available resources.” “No need to make excuses for him. When he needs me again, I’ll think twice about putting up with the public ostracizing every time the press gets wind of me and my visions.” “I’m not making excuses for him. Have you thought that perhaps that is the one way Chief Grueder can pull resources into finding out where Roy is?” Heather had not thought about Chief Grueder’s reasoning from outside her narrow, inside-thebox tunnel vision. Now that Langdon had raised the issue, it seemed so much more appropriate, so

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much more like the Chief. She looked at Langdon’s earnest stare; it seemed to penetrate all the way to her heart. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “Obviously not,” he said. “I think the Chief appreciates your help. He kind of looks at the two of you as family, or he wishes you were.” He pulled Heather into his arms again when she emerged from the bathroom smelling fresh and alluring. She backed away from Langdon’s embrace. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been behaving like a singleminded zealot. It’s just that I’m so worried about Roy.” Langdon sat back down in his wheelchair. “I understand that, but it won’t help if you put yourself in danger by going off on some witch hunt alone.” Heather semi—sort of—promised Langdon she would stay away from either Elinore or Lavender. She had no intentions of staying out of the investigation altogether. While Chief Grueder was busy looking for Roy, she would be busy interrogating, confronting, tailing these two women. Or maybe they were one woman. That would make it easier than battling two of them. She left Langdon with his cautionary advice burning in her ears, the sight of him in a wheelchair etched in her mind alongside the nightmarish systematic snapping of every bone in his body. “Stay away,” the voice from the nightmare screamed. But if she did, what chance would either Langdon or Roy have? If the purple feather murderer was so certain she had already seen enough to incriminate him or her—and the feminine version loomed large in her mind—then she had to try harder to see whatever it was. Lately she had been using what Mr. Wizard had taught her to call visions into her field. She was getting better at calling up visions. She was getting stronger, but would she be strong enough soon enough? Confronting Elinore or Lavender would have to be her next move. Her little tryst with Langdon loomed heavy in her mind; as much as she tried to deny it, she wanted more of him. It wasn’t some fear that had pushed her into Langdon’s arms. Lust maybe, coupled with fear. She tried to push the replay of their morning encounter out of her mind to concentrate on what she needed to do next.

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Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lavender slipped into her purple caftan before she went and made herself a cup of tea. She was beginning to have second thoughts about keeping Roy at the Vintage Orchid. Since police occasionally arrested her, what was to prevent them from inventing probable cause to search her suite for whatever reason? That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. If he was here he might be discovered. At the place in the Manor Lake there would be no reason to investigate straight-laced Elinore, Lavender thought with a tad of envy, or maybe it was jealousy. Elinore was such a bitch, such a nowhere person. Roy wouldn’t have any fun with her. Lavender was sure he would much prefer her brand of entertainment to that of dear Elinore’s. She laughed madly at the thoughts of slavery and bondage she had conditioned Roy to expect and enjoy. His reward was more of the wonderful druginduced euphoria he wallowed in afterwards. Yes, he had the best of all possible worlds. When she tired of him, she would turn him loose. They were looking to him to arrest anyway, but he would be a mindless jellyfish, a babbling idiot by then. She’d be sure of that. They would find him wandering naked and dumb as a newborn babe. She burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter once again. Heather would mourn long and hard the undoing of her brother. I should have let that gang trash her car and party all over her. Then I wouldn’t need to worry about her at all. Lavender couldn’t resist the opportunity to watch Heather squirm. Women like her, they had everything. They were so used to it they didn’t realize how lucky they were. Boys never taunted their lanky ugliness in school.

Boys never taunted her about glasses, braces, and ugly

orthopedic shoes. Girls would never have shunned Heather as being from a no-good family. No, she was one of those popular ones who the boys fell all over themselves trying to date. It would do her good to see how it felt to be on the outside and helpless for a change. By the time Lavender had finished marking a trail even the Keystone Cops could follow straight to Roy, the cops would shoot first and ask questions later. There was no need to worry whether he would be able to tell them anything or not. He wouldn’t be able to.

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Elinore was supposed to lunch with Heather again tomorrow to find out what was happening with the investigation, but Heather wasn’t at The Wizard’s Bookstore today. That girl Lavender had seen with Roy was there. She didn’t seem to know where Heather was, or when she’d be back. Elinore had heard the policeman ask for her too. He told Sandy to tell Heather to turn herself in; so she was a fugitive too. Perfect, Lavender thought. Her mentor had told her to ‘always keep your enemies close so you would know exactly what they were up to’. Elinore needed to keep Heather close. Perhaps not. Not if she were a fugitive. Lavender’s work was almost done and then she could slide back into the background until she was needed again. Elinore wanted her to be not seen and not heard, but Lavender had different ideas. Not this time, dear Elinore. The corporate boardroom was too boring, too stiff, too black and white. Elinore could have that dull, stark life, but she was not going to be part of it. “No thank you, Elinore dear,” Lavender said as she walked into the spare bedroom. She flicked on the light and a purple glow invaded the room. A naked man, handcuffed by one wrist to the four poster bed, slid off the bed and cowered in the corner as far away as he could get from the light and her shadow, cast across the room like some giant aberration. He shielded his eyes with the other hand. Lavender hit another toggle switch and music filled the room. Large music, like a full orchestra, played in its majesty. “Come here,” she coaxed as she crawled across the king size mattress. “Mama’s here to play. I want you to come here,” she said more sternly. She went to a chest of drawers and withdrew a vile of liquid. She filled a syringe and flicked it to settle out any air bubbles. She spurted a few drops out the end of the needle into the air. This time she walked around the bed and rubbed a spot on Roy’s arm with a cotton alcohol swab, inserted the needle in his arm and squeezed a healthy dose of what she called ‘feel good’ into his arm. He whimpered and then sat back groaning with pleasure. Lavender watched briefly and then went to the closet to exchange her purple caftan for leather, chains, stiletto heels and a whip. “Come to Mama.” Her voice, a cat-like mew, beckoned the handcuffed man onto the bed. It’s a shame to reduce such a fine specimen into a blathering idiot. She was already tiring of his obedience and surrender. He had been tough to crack—Lavender always enjoyed a challenge—but the challenge was over now. He was rapidly losing his toy value. She cracked the whip and he cowered and licked her face. “Aaurgh!” she screeched in disgust and left the room. Lavender would dress and hit the street again. There must be a nasty that needed taming somewhere out there tonight.

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Chapter Thirty-Nine

There was no way Heather could meet Elinore for lunch in the suggested public place as relayed by Sandy. Perhaps she could meet her at the Dog and Suds on the outskirts of Cross Point. Keeping a low profile was essential if she hoped to avoid being arrested. That was silly. She wasn’t even sure the officer cared enough to bother writing her up or reporting that she took off. Although, it seemed highly unlikely he would drop it. Until she found out for sure, she’d be constantly looking over her shoulder. Heather dialed Langdon’s telephone number. “Did you check to see if they had an APB or anything out for me?” she asked after they exchanged small talk. “I called Doyle; he would have been the officer who stopped you. He told me he never got a license plate number from your car, so rather than embarrass himself he let you slide by. It seems he really didn’t think you were a menace—just that you needed your attention redirected. “Thank the Lord for all small favors. Now I can quit behaving like a fugitive. Here I’ve been, dodging and hiding out for nothing.” Heather thought about what Sandy said though. Some cop had come by looking for her. What would that have been about? “How fortunate for you. That should teach you a lesson though. Your vehicle is a lethal weapon when you let anger or any other emotion drive it, even inattentiveness, get that?” Langdon said. “Yes, Officer Friendly,” she said, mocking his concern. As a part of the program in the elementary schools to get kids familiar and comfortable talking to police officers, Langdon was a volunteer for this program and Heather used that to tease him now though she admired him for doing it. He loved kids. “I totally understand where you’re coming from,” she sighed. “Another question: has Chief Grueder or any other cop been trying to find me for any reason that you know?” “If they were, I hadn’t heard, but then I’m out of the loop anyway…at least until they find Roy,” he said. “Someone was at The Wizard’s asking for me…uniformed officer Sandy said.” After she asked, she thought perhaps she had assumed uniformed. Maybe Sandy hadn’t said he was uniformed; maybe she only believed he was a cop. She’d need to ask Sandy.

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After she hung up from Langdon, she called Sandy with the good news and asked if the officer that was looking for her was uniformed. There was a weighted silence on the other end. “Sandy, are you still there?” Heather asked. “Yes, yes. I was trying to picture the man. He wasn’t… no, he wasn’t in a police uniform, but he showed me a badge. I assumed…I thought undercover cop. Oh Heather, how stupid of me.” Heather listened and felt a cold chill wrap around her shoulders. If not a cop, then who? “Don’t worry about it. Did you catch the name on the badge, or a number?” The numbers were only three digits, much easier to remember than a name. At least it was for Heather. “Goll whiz Heather, I-I’m so sorry. I just thought if he showed me a badge, it must be real. He had to be someone who knew you,” Sandy said. Heather read regret, apology and dread in Sandy’s voice. It was pointless letting her drown in what may or may not be significant. There was nothing that could be done about it now and Sandy, after all, was doing her a huge favor working for her at The Wizard’s on her day off. She had no right to be judgmental when she probably would have done the same thing in similar circumstances. “It’s okay Sandy. I probably would have assumed the same thing given the situation. The good news is, I’m not a fugitive, but would you mind staying at The Wizard’s until close? I have a couple more things I need to check out.” Sandy said she would if Heather still trusted her. She gave Heather a description of the man in question, but he was too generic, too ordinary looking to give Heather any idea who he might have been, or why he was looking for her. If he came back, Sandy was to get his phone number or give him Heather’s so he could call her. She was curious as she could be, and just a tad scared she had to admit, what with all the strange goings-on lately. What if he was the purple feather murderer and it wasn’t a woman? Another shudder chilled Heather’s arms and neck and she brushed it out of her mind. No time to dwell on what might be. She called Elinore and they agreed to lunch at The Green Mile. The small café had been named that long before Stephen King made the name famous. Now under new management, it had become a haven for horror and thriller buffs. They still served ‘the best lunch buffet this side of heaven’ according to the Sunday food critic’s column, and he had been right on so far. It seemed an odd choice for Elinore. But then, what did Heather really know about Elinore anyway? The thought also crossed her mind, what did Elinore want? She hardly seemed the type that would want to be friends with anyone of Heather’s social and business status.

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“Typical,” she said aloud. “You are always so skeptical. You think everyone has a sinister or at least an ulterior motive. I guess I am suspicious.” Over active imagination, her mother called it. Heather wondered if perhaps the visions weren’t all the product of an over active imagination. However, there had been a number of times when her visions were so right on they had been a real boost to the police department in their investigations. Heather’s mind contemplated while she drove out to The Green Mile. This Green Mile was all golf course, country club; and then the little café almost an adjunct before the countryside turned forested, wild wilderness. She repeated the Chamber of Commerce Visitor’s Bureau’s line; seventy-five percent federal forest, the other twenty-five percent American Indian reservation. She turned into the dirt trail that led back to The Green Mile café a good quarter of a mile back off the road. She bounced over the rutted, rock-strewn two lane dirt trail that crossed through marsh and tamarack stands, twisting and turning like a dragon’s tail. Every bounce was enough to jar her clenched teeth and send a twinge along her sensitive spine. Slow down, she contemplated. Slower would be little more than an idle—no, she’d have to accept the jolts. She slowed the car to a crawl as another vehicle approached her from the other direction. There was barely enough room for the two of them to pass each other without bumping mirrors as they rocked back and forth, edging forward to their respective goals. Finally, the road widened into a parking lot, a beautiful flower garden and then the log building of the café itself. Several cars were already in the lot, but not Elinore’s white Porsche. Heather pulled in and sat in the car, checking her makeup, her watch and her wallet. Lunch could be costly here. She hadn’t been here before. She only knew what the food critic had written and he didn’t give prices. The flash of sunlight against moving glass caught Heather’s eye, and she watched Elinore pull into the parking lot. Her stark white Porsche and its black tires caused Heather to wonder if anything in Elinore’s wardrobe, casual or bedtime—whatever—had any colors other than black or white. At the retreat there had been color—natural and artificial. Was that her only deviation from the truth of her black and white world? A bigger question entered Heather’s mind, indeed, was that the way she saw the world? Black and white with no shades in between. She watched Elinore disembark from her car. With Elinore it wasn’t a get in or get out of her car, it was definitely a disembark. As she unfolded from the car, she straightened the crisp black suit with the white pleated ribbon trim that went from her left shoulder, down the front of the suit jacket, to a silver star-shaped pin just above the waist. It then splashed toward the hip on the same side, ending in a tail that reminded Heather of a shooting star.

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Black and white high heels, black hat with the same ribbon trim; even her handbag matched sporting the same black with white ribbon trim. She touched the hat as though to perfect its perch on her dark hair. Heather looked at her own simple blue dress and flats and chuckled. She could just hop out of her car, she didn’t need to disembark. She sighed and wished in a way that she had the money to flaunt…not to dress to the nines for a simple lunch in a simple little café. Maybe Elinore thought celebrities dined at The Green Mile. Heather tucked her tail between her legs, embarrassed by her lack of pomp and feathers, hailed Elinore and followed her inside.

*****

Obviously Elinore Muich had been at The Green Mile many times before as it seemed everyone knew her and she had a table she preferred. Did she call ahead with reservations? “This used to be so totally unique and extraordinary, I frequented it a good deal more before it changed hands, but I still enjoy the ambiance,” Elinore said as she removed her gloves, placing them and her black clutch bag on the table between them. Heather watched in amusement the precision and deliberateness of her moves. The waiter hovered waiting for their drink order. “Do be a dear and bring me a glass of Chablis. How about you Heather? A good, dry white wine to cleanse the palate and awaken the taste buds. Always peaks my appetite too.” “Sure.” Why not? Heather thought. Sandy was minding the store and one wine wouldn’t impair her driving. Besides, Elinore always made her nervous, maybe this would help her relax. After the waiter set the wine glasses in front of them and disappeared, they studied the menus. No wonder she never ate here, Heather thought as she looked at the prices. She never saw prices this high except, perhaps, at what used to be the Standard Oil Executive’s retreat in Rainbow Springs when she waitressed there one brief summer. A waitress appeared to take their orders. Heather ordered the chef’s salad rather than the salad buffet and Elinore ordered the trout with a side salad. Heather envisioned a month’s profit at The Wizard’s in the two lunches. It seemed no more than pocket change to Elinore. “How is your mother handling your brother’s disappearance?” Elinore asked. “She isn’t,” Heather said. Bitterness seemed to have crept in when she wasn’t looking and settled in the nape of her neck, because that’s where she felt the knot as she spoke the words. Elinore’s hands—long elegant fingers, expertly manicured nails, rings Heather assumed were birthstones seemed

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the perfect size and shape for those graceful hands wrapped around the fluted base of the wine glass— they didn’t move. Elinore didn’t speak, but she raised a perfectly plucked and dyed eyebrow at Heather’s curt reply. “Sorry. Mother blames me for Roy’s disappearance.” She didn’t want to tell Elinore her mother had kicked her out. It was none of the woman’s business, if she indeed even cared at all. “That’s too bad. How can she possibly blame you? I mean, you aren’t his jailer are you? I suppose I should rephrase that. You don’t live with him, do you?” Elinore said. “No, actually I live…well, that is no longer true either. I lived with my mother until she kicked me out over this. Roy had—has his own place.” The expression on Elinore’s face puzzled Heather. She couldn’t quite tell if it was disbelief or elation. Her mind told her that for some reason her mother’s actions pleased Elinore. “Mother’s do have a tendency to overreact in their son’s defense,” she said. The statement seemed charged with unsaid innuendo. Yet, when she took it apart in her mind, it was a simple declarative statement anyone would have made. Why did it bother her that Elinore phrased her condolences in such a manner? The waitress served their meals, refilled their wine glasses and left a carafe of coffee. For a brief period they ate in silence. Heather wondered what Elinore’s agenda was. Why did she invite her to lunch? Why here?” “Have the police got any leads on Roy’s disappearance?” Elinore asked. “No. As a matter-of-fact, they think he’s behind the purple feather murders and faked his own disappearance because they were getting too close to discovering his involvement.” Elinore broke into a laugh Heather could only describe as maniacal. She seemed to take sadistic, perverse delight in the knowledge that Roy was both fugitive and suspect in his own disappearance and the purple feather murders. “Please forgive me dear, but our law enforcement personnel are stupid beyond words.” She didn’t elaborate. Were they stupid for suspecting Roy, or for not figuring out who the real killer was? Did Elinore know something she wasn’t revealing? Oh how she wished she could read minds instead of tarot cards, or visions. “I tried to tell Chief Grueder there is no way Roy would do something so heinous. I think he must be under so much pressure from the powers higher up he needs to blame someone,” Heather said. “An election year will do that to people,” Elinore said, downing her glass of wine and motioning to the waiter for another. “How about you, dear? Refill?” she asked.

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Heather declined. She needed to keep a clear head. She planned to see Lavender Paige this afternoon. Well, early evening by the time they would be out of The Green Mile. “I’m sure this will all be cleared up soon enough,” Elinore said, sliding her plate with the trout bones neatly filleted of meaty portions, to the side. The waitress instantly removed the plate. “No one has seen him since your retreat,” Heather said. She hadn’t meant it to sound accusing; it just came out that way. She had already mentioned that to Elinore once. “I didn’t mean…” she began to apologize for her rudeness. Elinore held up her hand. “No, I understand you’re upset. When there doesn’t seem to be any solution, we have a tendency to beat the only one we see to death. No offense taken. As I’m sure none was intended.” Heather was surprised at her candor and understanding. Maybe she had read her all wrong. Elinore paid for their meals and they walked out to the parking lot. “Thanks for lunch,” Heather said. “Don’t mention it, my pleasure. Do keep me informed if you hear any more about Roy’s disappearance, won’t you?” Heather said she would and Elinore offered to go speak to Heather’s mother if she thought it might get her back in the house. That was really a nice gesture, Heather thought, but Mother could just stew in her own juices for a while. Why should Elinore go out of her way to try to appease her? Unless Elinore was more interested in Roy than Heather even imagined, she didn’t need to do Heather any special favors, that’s for sure. She smiled to herself. “Sure, if you want to, but be forewarned…Mother is more stubborn than the proverbial mule.” It was time she visited Lavender Paige. She was another dangling end in Heather’s chain of who’s who and up to what. She could use the pretense of thanking her for coming to her rescue with that gang last night. As Heather rounded the corner by the Vintage Orchid Suites she saw Elinore Muich speaking with the doorman. She quickly turned into the lot up the block and watched as Elinore entered the building. Why didn’t she ask her about Lavender Paige at lunch? They look so much alike; they had to be sisters. Why would...? Speculation was getting her nowhere. She would just go to Lavender’s suite. Thirteenth floor, suite number thirteen; even that sounded prophetic to Heather. She sat in her car and waited for Elinore to come back out. An hour passed and it was dark when she decided to cross the street to the Vintage Orchid Suites, thinking she would go to Lavender’s suite and see who answered the door.

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Lavender Paige was just exiting the building. She quickened her step. “Miss Paige,” she called to her. Lavender turned, squinting in her direction as if to see who she was. Then she did the strangest thing Heather could imagine. She bolted across the street through traffic, barely missing being run down. Horns blared and she gave them the finger. Either Lavender is Elinore’s identical twin or they are the same person. As she tried to follow her, Lavender spun around, her face contorted into a combination of anger and fear. Heather thought perhaps Elinore didn’t want anyone to know about her ‘other’ life. She turned again and darted toward the parking garage for the Vintage Orchid suites residents. “Lavender! Wait!” Heather shouted after her. “I just want to thank you,” she tried to no avail. Obviously Lavender didn’t want to speak to her for any reason. Heather turned to the Orchid Suites. The doorman was nowhere in sight. She thought to ring Lavender’s doorbell and see who answered, if anyone but, the outer door was locked. The note said, safety feature, entrance by prior appointment or key only. The doorman would return at six in the morning. She turned back toward the street and saw Lavender, tires squealing, shooting out of the parking garage entrance, heading down town. Heather turned and walked to where she had parked her car. She could go back to her car and wait for Lavender, or follow her to her corner. But she knew that the first alternative could be an all night wait, the second alternative would put her back in a danger zone for her. After last night she didn’t want any part of it. Besides, Heather reasoned, she needed to get to The Wizard’s to close up so Sandy could go home. It seemed all avenues were being slammed shut in her face. She would go to Elinore’s office tomorrow and find out what her connection to Lavender was. Or maybe she would come back here early, when Lavender was bound to be home. Since hookers worked the night shift she would wait until she would be awake. Then maybe she’d get some answers. Why would the woman risk her neck to save Heather and then avoid her when she tried to talk to her, to thank her for what she had done? Heather was confused and a bit miffed at being ostracized, first by her mother, then Chief Grueder and now Lavender. What was she, poison? And where was Roy? Why hadn’t even the smallest lead turned up yet? Heather jammed the car in reverse and backed out of the parking lot. She was tempted to drive through the parking garage looking for Elinore’s white Porsche. Lavender’s old brown Pontiac was an eyesore compared to the Porsche. She wondered if Elinore had parked near the rusted-out Pontiac or as far away as she could, afraid she’d absorb some of the rust from Lavender’s bucket of bolts. How does

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one sister become so successful and the other a prostitute? she wondered. Living in the Vintage Orchid Suites was not cheap, Heather was sure, so obviously Lavender made good money at what she did, but… She let the thought hang in the air. So many, many mysteries surrounding those two women, she was sure she was seeing only the tip of the iceberg. Instead of the parking garage she turned onto Plum Street and headed toward The Wizard’s Book Store and Apothecary.

She realized she was exhausted from her tension-filled day and hadn’t

accomplished anything to get closer to finding Roy. She said a silent prayer that he was alive and okay as she drove.

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Chapter Forty

Langdon couldn’t believe what Chief Grueder had just told him. He thought the Chief was more or less a father figure to Heather and Roy. Now he sounded like he believed Roy was guilty of murder. Whatever he knew, the Chief wasn’t sharing any of the details or evidence he had with his lead homicide detective. Matter-of-fact, since he suspended him it was as though Langdon was poison to Chief Grueder and the police department. This was not the Chief Grueder Langdon had worked under for the past seven years. “If you stick your nose in this investigation with the intent of helping Roy, I will put you under lock and key,” Chief Grueder said. “Whoa Chief.” He put his hands up in supplication. “I was merely asking how things were going. You can’t be serious thinking Roy or I would have anything to do with these murders, can you?” “Never mind what or why I believe what I do. You keep your nose clean.” Chief Grueder hung up with out giving Langdon a chance to answer. Langdon’s only thought was how he would be able to get around Chief Grueder’s orders. He needed to talk to Dixie or one of the other guys on the homicide squad. Unless the Chief had gagged them all, he should be able to get some information from the squad. They were his friends, as well as fellow detectives, after all. Besides, none of them ever played strictly by the book. Langdon began to weigh the events of the last week. Someone had tried to kill him while he was incapacitated in the hospital. Would Roy be capable of that? He decided that unless Roy was under someone’s spell, or on drugs, or whatever other influence could warp someone’s mind, there was no way Roy would harm a fly, let alone him. He and Roy had been friends since grade school. Sure they had their fights, more disagreements than fights, but they’d always been best friends. He never seemed younger than Langdon. Sometimes a year made a difference, but not with Roy. They seemed the same age, with the same ideas and the same thoughts on life. What could possibly make Chief Grueder believe Roy was capable of cold-blooded murder? What about the purple feather? That definitely was not a guy thing, certainly not a Roy thing.

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Heather and her visions. Did she honestly believe he and Roy were in the same kind of danger from her imagined purple haze? He shook his head. Sometimes he worried about Heather’s sanity. The Wizard must have had a pretty strong influence on her. That old guy was a bubble off plumb, everyone knew that. Everyone but Heather, obviously. It was good of the old geezer to bequeath the bookstore to Heather—it paid her bills and she enjoyed digging for rare books for her customers, but once he were married her she wouldn’t need to work. He’d see to that. Look at you speaking of visions—you and your imagination. She is barely able to give you the time of day on an ordinary day. Having sex with her doesn’t mean well…and you have her for your wife already. Langdon laughed out loud at his ego-fed presumptions. After their lovemaking he thought his chances with her would be a sure thing. She was softening, ever so slightly. Actually, she behaved like she wanted his help to find Roy. He wasn’t about to let her down. Langdon dialed Dixie’s home number. When she answered she warned him right away she could get fired if the chief got wind she had talked to him. “Just tell me if the chief really believes Roy could have committed these murders against his friends and co-league members. Or is the chief using this to be able to involve more manpower in the search for Roy?” “I’m afraid he’s got some pretty irrefutable evidence that it was Roy,” Dixie said. “Why? Why would Roy do something like this?” “In a word, his sister,” Dixie said. “You mean Heather?” “Does Roy have another sister?” “That’s crazy. You mean anyone with designs on Heather, he bumped them off? That’s sick. What about the woman?” “The Chief figures she must have crossed Heather or caused her some kind of grief, so Roy wrote her a ticket to see the grim reaper, too.” Dixie said. “You can’t give me an idea about the evidence, can you?” Langdon asked. “DNA, that’s all I can say,” she said. As ridiculous as the whole scenario was becoming, the jealousy thing didn’t work. Protection for Heather did. That would also explain why Langdon was targeted. But the note Heather got—the femininity of the note’s design and precision—that, that didn’t seem plausible.

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Langdon didn’t think that note had come from Roy. He never heard Roy express concern over who Heather did or did not date. Heather was a determined woman capable of taking care of herself. He wondered what her take on this angle would be, but he was pretty sure she would laugh the theory into next week without giving it a modicum of thought. Granted Roy and Heather were close, but they weren’t Siamese twins joined at the hip by any means. DNA. What did Dixie mean by that? Was Roy’s DNA somehow left at the scene of one of the murders? This was becoming too much for him. He needed to talk with Heather. He needed to brainstorm with her. Maybe together they could come up with some answers. He called The Wizard’s Book Store to ask Heather to stop by after closing. “I’ll buy you dinner if you’ll pick it up on your way over,” he said. She agreed. The clock ticked ponderously slow. Why is it when you’re waiting for someone, time stretches to within an inch of your snapping point? Heather was already half an hour late, at least later than he thought she should be. That was so unlike her. She was normally very punctual. He wheeled himself over to the window and looked up and down the street, as if that would make her miraculously appear. Maybe he should call The Wizard’s and see if she was hung up some how. What if Roy had called? Visited or asked for her help and she didn’t have time to call and break their date? What if the purple feather…he didn’t want to finish that thought as if finishing it might make it true. Langdon flipped through channels on the television looking for something to distract his thoughts. Finally, he gave in and dialed The Wizard’s Book Store. If she didn’t answer, then what? He could worry harder? What else could he do? Considering his options he figured he could get himself into his car and drive to The Wizard’s, at least be sure she wasn’t lying on the floor there with a purple feather for a companion. The car keys were on a tray in his bedroom so he navigated through the narrow doorways to retrieve them, thinking all the while about how this house wasn’t wheelchair accessible. He then worked his way back to the back door. Thank goodness he lived in a small single-story house. No need for a wheelchair ramp. Cautiously, he wheeled himself out next to the car. He needed to be extremely careful. No one would come looking for him if he fell in his garage. The door swung open easily. Once he was in he could shove the wheel chair away with his good leg. Getting back would take some different maneuvering, but he’d worry about that when he got back. He locked the wheelchair wheels so it would remain where he put it, enabling him to get in the car. With the wheels locked, he reasoned, it

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wouldn’t go too far when he shoved it out of the way of the car door. He would be able to reach it when he came back. Having shut the door, he backed slowly out of the garage. All went well. Thank heavens for automatic garage door openers, he thought as he moved out of the garage and hit the remote button to close the door. He flipped on his headlights, fastened his seat belt and backed out of the driveway. Just as he hit the street a horn blared. He slammed on the brakes. He hadn’t seen the headlights of an approaching car. Maybe this was a stupid move. How would he even get into The Wizard’s if he could find a parking spot right out front? No wheelchair, no crutches, no way to walk without using the cast that wasn’t designed to be stepped on. What if he made the hip worse? It had been extremely sore since he was stupid enough to carry Heather to the bedroom, even. Thank goodness it was only a few short steps. Once again his lust, passion, whatever it was, nearly did him in. What good would that do anyone? Maybe he should just call the police department. Another brilliant idea, he chided himself. And tell them what? Heather wasn’t exactly a missing person; she hadn’t been gone for the required time limit. Heather wasn’t exactly in any verifiable danger that he knew of. He slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Damn! Damn, damn, damn!” he said to the darkness. Just as he hit the remote to reopen his garage door and began to move back into the driveway and subsequently the garage, headlights glared through his back window and into the rearview mirror, blinding him. Given the set of circumstance he had just conjured up for Heather, his immediate thoughts were for his own safety, his vulnerability. He hit the automatic door locks and slid the car into the garage. If only he could get the door down before whomever it was got to his car… All the purple feather murders had been done with a poison dart blown from a shooter. A dart couldn’t penetrate a closed car window, he reasoned. With the glare from the headlights he was still momentarily blinded even as the overhead door light triggered by the garage door opener came on. His eyes couldn’t adjust fast enough. He caught the movement of a shadow approaching the driver’s side in his side view mirror. Someone tapped on the window with a key—he spun to see what fate awaited him. *****

Heather pushed his wheelchair over next to the open car door so he could slide from the car seat to the wheelchair seat. She placed the bag of carryout food in his lap and hit the remote to close the overhead garage door just as the five minute delayed action of her headlights turned off.

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Great safety feature, Langdon mused. But they sure as hell prolonged my agony. “Why were you so late?” he asked as he pulled himself through the kitchen doorway. “Last minute customer, and with business the way it is around here, I didn’t dare turn away even one paying customer,” she answered. “You should have called,” he said. He wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. They echoed in his head like some jilted teenager reacting to yet another inconsiderate date gone wrong. Heather ignored the comment. “Want me to make coffee, or do you have some other beverage choice?” Relieved she didn’t pay attention to his boyish foolishness, or his stupidity in thinking she needed to be rescued, or answer to his childish accusations, he said, “I could sure use a beer. How about you?” Heather plopped two beers on the table and Langdon opened them as she got out plates, eating utensils, and served up the carryout meal of chicken and all the trimmings. They dined and chatted as if the whole evening had gone just as planned. “I talked to Dixie about the investigation of the purple feather murders and Roy’s connection to it all. She said Chief Grueder has gagged them all under threat of dismissal or jail time if they talk to me. So no one dares tell me anything. But, she did tell me Chief Grueder’s evidence consists of some of Roy’s DNA.” “Wait, if he’s accusing Roy, and he says his evidence is somehow connected to his DNA, where did he get the uncontaminated sample to compare it with?” Langdon knew why he thought brainstorming with Heather was such a good idea, and he was surprised he hadn’t thought the same thing. “That’s a good question. If they got a search warrant for his place, there is a good chance that would have been where they got the sample—a brush, comb, laundry,” he said. Heather shrugged. “It doesn’t prove he murdered anyone, just that he had been there at the scene or near the person. What motive are they suggesting?” “Would you believe protection for you?” “Protection? From what? These were men from the Rec. League…they were friends of his. Who was he supposed to be protecting me from?” “The theory is these guys wanted to date you, or dated you and you didn’t like them, or they wouldn’t take no for an answer, or some such scenario…so he eliminated the problem for you.”

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“Do you realize how absolutely absurd this whole thing sounds. If that’s the case, how did Dixie explain the woman who was killed? I didn’t even know her.” “Same theory, she crossed you some way or another and Roy eliminated her for you.” He knew how hard this was on her by the anguish in her expression. He only wished there was some way he knew how to refute the evidence, offer her a glimmer of hope, anything. Langdon reached out and took Heather’s hand. He drew her close to him. “I know how hard this has to be for you. All I’m saying is whoever has Roy—and I’m certain he must be held captive or we would have heard from him. Whoever has him has planted his DNA at the murder scene with the latest victim.” “Is that all the evidence they have?” Heather asked as she withdrew her hands from his and began clearing the table of the dishes and leftovers. “That’s all Dixie told me about,” he said as he helped put dishes in the sink. “I’ll do these later. That is something I can do.” “There has been another incident that makes me think it may be someone we haven’t yet considered,” she said. Langdon waited. This woman would make a great poker player. She held all her cards close to her chest, playing them only when it suited her. What new piece of evidence did she hold, and more importantly, how long had she held it? “How so?” Heather finished rinsing and stacking the dishes before she turned toward him. “There was this guy at The Wizard’s the day Sandy took over for me…” She proceeded to tell Langdon he wasn’t uniformed, but flashed a badge and Sandy didn’t get a name or badge number. “Did you ask the Chief if he had sent anyone?” “I did. He said he hadn’t. He said he trusted me to behave responsibly. What a laugh.” Langdon could tell she wasn’t viewing it as a laughing matter. “You please be careful. That note should be taken very seriously,” he said, wishing somehow he could protect her from all the dangers hovering around her. She shrugged. “No need to worry. I do enough of that for both of us. I’ve got to get going.” “If you’ll retrieve my wallet from my dresser top, I’d like to pay you for picking dinner too.” Heather got his wallet and put the chicken and coleslaw into refrigerator containers. “Lunch for tomorrow,” she said. “I have an idea on how to gain some more insight into Roy’s disappearance. I had a late lunch with Elinore yesterday and she went straight to Lavender’s from The Green Mile café. When I tried to talk to Lavender, she ditched me. I figure tomorrow afternoon, before it gets too late, I will go up to

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Lavender’s suite and talk to her. The doorman leaves at night and the only way in is with a key or tenant, so I couldn’t go back to talk to Elinore, or even see if she was in Lavender’s suite last night. I don’t think she was though; I am more sure than ever that Elinore and Lavender are one and the same.” “What about the blonde hair?” Langdon asked. “A great wig does wonders for changing hair color. Do you realize how many ways a person has of changing their appearance anymore?” Langdon worried about her getting any more involved, but there was no stopping Heather when she decided to do something. “Be careful,” he said. “Do me a favor? Call me after you see Lavender.” Heather agreed she would. When she left, Langdon watched her drive away, wishing he was physically back to normal so that he could make her spend the night in his arms.

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Chapter Forty-One

“I’m sorry Miss. You’ve been here harassing tenants of Vintage Orchid Suites and we cannot tolerate that. I cannot permit you to enter,” the doorman said, stopping Heather from entering the lobby. “I have only been trying to talk to one of your tenants and I keep missing her. I don’t see how that can be construed as harassment,” Heather said. “That is harassment, and I will have to ask you to leave voluntarily or I will have to call the police,” he said. Heather was prepared to protest further when she saw Elinore Muich approaching. She stepped out from in front of the doorman. “Elinore, hi,” she said as though she hadn’t been waiting for, or trying to gain entrance to where she might be going. The look on Elinore’s face was indescribable. Was she shocked, frightened or angry? Heather didn’t know, but she plowed ahead. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” The doorman spun around ready to grab Heather when Elinore held up one hand and put her index finger over her lips to shush the doorman. “I’ll speak with Miss Highmark,” she said and motioned to Heather to step off to the side of the building so as not to block the doorway. “What are you doing here?” Elinore asked. Indignation created a jabbing barb to her words. She motioned for Heather to have a seat on the park bench beside the building. “We can sit here,” she said. “What is it you want that has the poor doorman so frustrated with you?” Heather sat down on the park bench, trying to form her questions in her mind before she blurted them out without coherence and reason to Elinore. “I don’t mean to be any trouble,” she began, keying her question to Elinore’s facial expressions. “Just get to the point. I have business to attend to.” She sounded so curt and put upon to Heather that she wasn’t sure she should even continue. But Heather had her foot in the door, so to speak. She had to chance it. “I wanted to speak to another woman who lives here, a Lavender Paige,” Heather said. Though Elinore remained with her hands quietly folded in her lap, her feet planted firmly on the ground, Heather

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felt her stiffen. In a voice that seemed gauged to be controlled and even without emotion of any sort, she said, “I’m afraid I don’t know the woman. The doorman seemed rather adamant that you were to quit harassing the tenants here, so I’m afraid I can’t take you in with me. The friend I came here to visit is quite reclusive and hates visitors. The doorman knows this so he wouldn’t take kindly to me trying to sneak you in with me.” “I thought perhaps. I mean…I assumed…” Heather began before Elinore waved her off. “My dear girl, long ago a science professor at the university told me ‘do not assume as that makes an ass out of you and me’. I’ve heeded his words ever since. I would advise you to do the same. Now I truly must get on with my business,” Elinore said, standing to leave; in effect, dismissing Heather. “I thought maybe she would know about Roy since she had gone out with one of the Rec. League players.” Elinore had taken several steps away from Heather in the direction of the Vintage Orchid Suites. She spun on her heel, all the color drained from her face. “She what?” Elinore walked back toward Heather. “How do you know this for sure?” Heather stiffened her spine, it was now or never. “I was there at Candy’s the night Lavender left with Collier Downs. He later turned up dead. That was the night he was murdered,” she said. “That’s ridiculous, that woman rarely leaves her suite.” “I thought you said you didn’t know her,” Heather said. “I really don’t have time for your games. I’m late as it is. You will have to find someone else to badger.” She abruptly turned and stalked to the door where the doorman opened the door for her and put his hand up to Heather to stop her from following Elinore. “I’m leaving,” she said. She watched as Elinore made her way to the elevators. She was alone as the elevator went up and stopped at the thirteenth floor. She wondered, did her friend live on the same floor as Lavender? Heather hadn’t noticed any other name with the thirteenth floor as part of their address. “How many tenants live on the thirteenth floor?” she asked the doorman. “Nobody wants that floor. Well, no one but Ms. Paige that is, she rents the whole floor.” “How many suites does that entail?” she asked. The doorman got an exasperated look on his face and threw his hands in the air. “I have already answered your last question. Now either you move on, or…”

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Heather held up her hands in surrender. “I’m out of here,” she said. She felt totally frustrated and thwarted. No matter what direction she took there was a road block. Sandy would be waiting dinner for her. She could call her, tell her she’d be late, and just hang around, waiting for either Elinore or Lavender to come out. She was positive neither would show since Elinore knew she waited outside. Now that Elinore knew Heather knew about Lavender, what would the woman do? Was it possible they were keeping Roy for some reason? If they were and they realized Heather had not backed out of the investigation, what would happen to Roy? She had to do something, but what? The doorman wouldn’t let her near the place. What if she waited for another tenant after the doorman left for the day and tried to slip in that way. Frustrated and exhausted, Heather walked back to her car. As she was preparing to leave she saw Lavender Paige leaving the Vintage Orchid Suites. The doorman hailed her a cab and it took off toward town. Heather followed a safe distance behind. The cab seemed to be going in circles. Did Lavender suspect she was being followed? Did Elinore tell her that Heather may try to follow her? Eventually, Lavender got out of the cab at Park Street near Candy’s Sweets. Heather held her breath as she pulled into a side street and watched what Lavender would do next. A group of people came out of Candy’s laughing and carrying on. Heather recognized Morgan Wheel as one of her brother’s friends from the Rec. League, but she didn’t know the others. Lavender ducked behind some bushes on the tree and bush lined boulevard. The others got in a car and Morgan waved as they left him standing at the curb. He turned and stared down the street in the direction Lavender had hidden. As he passed, she stepped from the bushes and held up a long tube, a pea shooter. Heather pulled the memory from childhood—the days when she and Roy would see who could hit cans from the farthest distance away with their peashooters. Lavender slipped something into the tube, held it to her lips and puffed her cheeks full of air. Before Heather realized what Lavender was about to do, she let fly. Morgan grabbed his neck as though a hornet had bitten him, took several steps and collapsed to the sidewalk. Heather watched frozen, afraid to move, afraid to stay. The lethal poison dart, a purple haze rose from Morgan Wheel’s crumpled body on the cold concrete sidewalk. Everything turned to slow motion, the purple haze surrounding Lavender Paige as she replaced the pea shooter in her purse, pulling a purple feather and a white handkerchief from her purse. She dropped them by the body and strutted off down the street as though she was just out for an evening stroll. It was then Heather saw her pull off the plastic gloves and toss them in a nearby dumpster.

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Heather realized she had just witnessed another purple feather murder, and she had been powerless to stop it—to intervene, to confront the killer. The killer who was planting DNA evidence that implicated Roy in the murders. The only way that could be happening would be if she had Roy or his possessions close by. Heather became conscious of the fact that she needed to tail Lavender. The doorman would be gone now. There was a chance she could sneak in when Lavender reentered the suites. She started the car and slowly pulled out into the street as Lavender hailed another cab. Then, as she drove behind her, she took two sticks of gum from her purse—she would need some way of stopping the door from latching when Lavender entered the Vintage Orchid Suites. She had seen the gum thing in a movie, but she was sure it wouldn’t be enough for a heavy duty security lock, but it may hold the credit card she removed from her purse in place until she could sneak in unobserved. Heather couldn’t believe her good fortune. Even if she didn’t find Roy, she would be able to point Chief Grueder in the serial killer’s direction. She should have retrieved the gloves from the dumpster before they disappeared. She couldn’t worry about them now. She needed to stay with Lavender. Cautiously she followed the cab, staying far enough behind so she wouldn’t be seen. She was reasonably sure Lavender was headed back to the Vintage Orchid Suites, but she wanted to be sure. When the cab pulled on to Plum Street Heather quickly took a turn around the block and parked in the side street near the building. She got out and raced to the side of the building. As Lavender entered the building she raced to the door. Waiting for the last possible second before it closed and latched, she slipped her credit card with the gum on it into the door and ducked away so as not to be seen. As soon as she heard the elevator close she flew into the building and raced up the stairs to the next floor. She got in the other elevator and pushed the button for floor number twelve; she didn’t know which end of the thirteenth floor Lavender lived on and she didn’t want to step out of the elevator facing her. She got out of the elevator on the twelfth floor and flew up the stairwell in time to see Lavender opening her suite door. Heather caught a glimpse inside. There, seated in a chair with hands tied to the rungs, a bedraggled Roy slumped. Before the door closed completely she saw his pasty complexion and his glazed eyes—he gave Lavender a ghoulish smile. Heather had all she could do to keep from bursting through the door to rescue him. What was he doing with Lavender Paige? Why did he look like warmed over death. She needed to tell Chief Grueder what she saw, what she knew. She needed to be sure he would believe her. Langdon! Maybe Langdon would be her ticket to Chief Grueder’s good side. But he was

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suspended; would the Chief believe either of them? She had to chance it. She wasn’t sure what she would find on the other side of that door. She wasn’t sure how quickly Lavender could reload her pea shooter and send a poison dart into one or both of them. She needed Chief Grueder.

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Chapter Forty-Two

Heather knew she didn’t have anytime to waste. Chief Grueder needed to know what she knew and know it now. She raced to her car and pointed it in the direction of Langdon Cruise’s house. As she drove she ran the events of the last few weeks through her mind. What had she missed? The luncheon with Elinore at The Green Mile crossed her mind as if she watched a video tape rerun of the event. She watched the perfectly dressed Elinore’s long legs slide out of the car as she did her skirt hiked to reveal most of the perfect long leg. The attendant’s attention, nearly dazed as he stared, Heather’s gaze now followed his. The tattoo on her thigh nearly jumped out at her. “The damn black widow spider tattoo, the same tattoo…Lavender Paige had one on her thigh.” Was it a twin to the one Lavender had or was Jekyll and Hyde feminized as Lavender and Elinore? Heather’s stomach lurched and she swallowed. The hard, acid reflux nearly choked her. Why did another person need to die and Roy be subjected to whatever it was he was being subjected to? How could she have missed something so obvious? The vision of Roy, emaciated, pale, his eyes deep in hollow sockets, the glance she had through the closing door told her he was strung out on something and his days—perhaps even hours—were numbered. Another vision kept crowding out that of Roy; it was of the white ladies represented by Holda or Berchta. From the stories Mr. Wizard told her they signified a death in the house. She was the goddess who received the souls of maidens or young children—was it her own death she was to prepare for? She shook the disturbing vision from her mind to concentrate on the road in front of her. The traffic lights seemed to favor her as she shot through the last light on yellow. The last three blocks to Langdon’s house seemed endless. A thick cloud of moths flew into her headlights as she passed yet another glowing gas light.

How dare she wake Langdon in the middle of the night while a body laid

decomposing, spewing purple foam from its mouth as though Morgan’s corpse hoped to expel the poison that killed him? What if predators or another person happened upon the body and tampered with, confused, destroyed, and obliterated all the clues, if there were any other than the ones Lavender

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planted? The purple feather could stay, but she should have picked up the handkerchief and those gloves. She was sure it was more DNA evidence against Roy. She should have disposed of them and replaced them with the gloves, though that would have reeked of an obvious plant. Too late now; she needed to get Langdon to help her. It was proof to her that she was not yet smart enough to be a cop or criminal. Not yet smart enough to see a clue before it faded away into obscurity. Heather jammed on the brakes and charged Langdon’s front door with a fury she usually reserved for the gym’s punching bags. She hammered as a light lit somewhere in the back of the house, and then light followed light, illuminating a path to the front door where she stood. By the time the outside light over her head went on she was shouting. “Langdon! Let me in. I found Roy! We need to hurry.” Locks and a dead bolt scraped metal against metal as Langdon tore at them and wrenched the door open. He slid the wheelchair back away from the door and Heather burst through into his living room. “Lavender’s just killed Morgan and she’s got Roy captive at her apartment,” she said, out of breath as she bent over, holding on to her knees, trying to catch her breath. She wasn’t out of shape, she told herself. So why couldn’t she breathe. She began pacing back and forth like a caged wolf fresh out of the Alaskan wilderness. “Whoa, slow down girl,” Langdon said, his voice still hoarse with sleep. He grabbed hold of her arm. “How do you know Lavender killed…Morgan? You mean Morgan Wheel?” Heather twisted free of his grasp and began pacing again, clutching her arm across her diaphragm, the other twisted at her lips as she so often did without thinking when she was agitated. She flung her hands in the air as she whirled around to face Langdon. “I followed her. She stalked Morgan, after his friends left him. I saw her use a pea shooter like blow gun to shoot her poison dart into his neck. He took a couple steps and buckled to the sidewalk in a heap. She…she dropped a feather and a white handkerchief by his body.” She turned toward Langdon, tears threatening to spill over her lower lids. “The purple haze—it flowed from Lavender to Morgan and encompassed them both. She’s the killer. She’s the purple feather murderer, but she’s planting evidence to connect them to Roy. She dumped her plastic gloves into a nearby dumpster and I left them there in my haste to follow her.” Langdon stood up, balancing most of his weight on his good leg he and pulled her into his arms. “Take it easy. We’ll get Roy before anything happens to him.”

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“You didn’t see him. You didn’t see how… He looked like warmed over death, something has already happened to him. I hope its reversible—that’s all I can hope.” She buried her face in Langdon’s shoulder. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time, but it felt so good to be in his strong arms. It felt so good not to have to be the tough guy for a change, if only for the moment. “Help me out to your car. We’ll go get the Chief. We need to talk to him face to face, so he will believe what you’ve seen.” Langdon was dressed only in sweats, but with the cast Heather could see why he couldn’t get into his usually physique defining jeans. Why cut them up for the brief time he’d be in a cast? Heather slid his jacket onto his arms while he stood, then she moved under his arm to allow him to use her as his crutch. He hobbled out to the car, grunting with each hop. She opened the door for him and he slid into the passenger’s seat, using the roof he hoisted himself to adjust his seating. Heather raced around the car to the driver’s side and jumped in. They sped off in the direction of the chief’s house since more than likely he was home and sound asleep. Langdon reached back and pulled the seat belt around and fastened it. “Don’t tell me, my driving scares you,” Heather said, glancing sideways at him. “It’s the law,” he said. But she saw him reach down, fingers gripping the hand hold on the door. “Truth is, if motorcyclists don’t have to wear helmets, or seat belts, how can the law insist I wear one?” she said. Heather darted in and out between late night motorists either tired from their shift, or not quite awake yet, heading out to work. She wasn’t about to let them stop her from making time. “Won’t do us or Roy any good if we both get killed on the way to the Chief’s,” Langdon said as Heather jumped on the brakes and jerked back into her own lane, narrowly escaping sideswiping the car aimed at her from the other direction. Horns blared; Heather ignored the finger messages from the other drivers. She tromped on the gas and darted into White Avenue with her foot on the brake and then down hard again on the accelerator. “Chief’s house is the grey one?” she asked as she sped down the wide avenue. “Yes,” Langdon said through clenched teeth. “I’ll remember never to loan you my car.” She whipped in to the Chief’s driveway on the back corner of his house. She brought the car to an abrupt halt, slamming the gear shift into park and bounced out of the car almost before it came to a complete stop.

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There was a light on in the Grueder’s kitchen and they could see the Chief’s wife pouring coffee for him. The Chief jumped to his feet as Heather slammed her car door. “He must have already got wind of the latest homicide,” Langdon said as Heather helped him out of the car. She shouldered Langdon’s arm and put her arm around his waist. Together they hobbled to the Chief’s back door. He already stood holding it open. Heather blurted out what she and Langdon were there for and where Roy was. She stressed his condition. Mrs. Grueder put her arm around Heather as she put a cup of coffee in front of her. “There, there dear. The Chief has been onto her scheme. He just needed the opportunity to move on her.” Heather looked at the concern on the Chief’s face. “We’ve been tailing her…well, Lavender, Elinore, whoever she chooses to be at any given moment. We knew Roy was with her, we just didn’t know in what capacity.” “From what I saw Chief, he is slave; drugged, hands tied, emaciated. He’s lucky he’s not dead yet,” Heather said. “I’ve got the team waiting for me at the Vintage Orchid Suites now, you two stay here. I’ll let you know…” “Please, Chief,” Heather interrupted him. “Let me go. I won’t get in the way, I promise. I need to be there for Roy.” The chief looked from his wife to Heather to Langdon, and back to Heather. “Come on,” he said. “But absolutely no interference until the coast is clear.” “Promise,” Heather said. Langdon reached up and grabbed the Chief’s arm. “I’m coming too,” he said. Heather quickly moved her car out of the driveway so the Chief could get his squad car out. The three of them piled in the chief’s squad car. He squealed out of the driveway, sirens blaring as they flew toward Vintage Orchid Suites. “I saw Elinore had the same black widow spider tattoo on her thigh everyone saw on Lavender at Candy’s Sweets the night she picked up Collier Downs,” Heather told the Chief. “I don’t know how I didn’t connect it earlier.” “That’s good, that’ll really help lock their connection in,” Chief Grueder said. “And the gloves…” “What gloves?” Chief Grueder said.

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“When Lavender killed Morgan Wheel, she tossed her plastic gloves in the dumpster about half a block from the scene.” “Rock solid,” he said, a smile splashing across his face. “I’ll cut the siren a couple blocks away from the Vintage.” Concern replaced the smile and Heather knew he was back in the no-nonsensepolice-chief mode. Heather’s knuckles were turning white from her death grip on the door hand rest. If Langdon thought she drove erratically, what did he think of the Chief’s driving? She didn’t turn to see. She was too busy driving the squad car, no matter that the Chief was behind the wheel. She instinctively jammed brake and gas, whatever was called for, and leaned into the turns cornering with the tires making more noise than that siren. The Chief killed the siren, but left the flashing lights on to warn any early morning traffic to pull out of the way. Several squad cars and an unmarked car were already on the street around the Vintage Orchid Suites. An ominous hush permeated the air as Heather stepped from the squad car. The men converged at the Chief’s car and then spread out to their various assigned places. Heather held her breath. Langdon held Heather. They all waited for the Chief’s signal.

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Chapter Forty-Three

Lavender prepared her evening meal. Roy was really beginning to look Michael Jackson. She had to get some food in him if she was going to keep him alive just a little while longer. “There’s only one more of your compatriots I need to dispose of, dear boy. Morgan Wheel was a snap. You would think the members of the recreation league would be so paranoid by now that none of them would walk a nighttime street alone, no matter how far the distance. Male ego and arrogance. See what arrogance will get you?” she said to Roy as she held his chin, forcing him to look into her face. “That Langdon Cruise has turned into a real problem. I should have just used the poison dart on him like the others while he was lying there in that hospital bed. It would have been so easy—too easy, and I did so want him to know what was happening.” Roy sat at the table, one hand handcuffed to the chair arm. Handcuffs were so much more efficient than ropes or other tethers, she thought as she set a plate before him. Roy smiled. He was so totally not with it. Lavender laughed. “You’re just like a big puppy, aren’t you?” She shook his chin angling his face up to hers. She gave him a long kiss on the mouth. When she backed off, he wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand and spit on the floor. Lavender backhanded him across his face and he glared at her as he jerked at the handcuff that held him in his chair. “Man of few words, eh? But your actions speak volumes. Now you see why I must dispose of you, too,” Lavender said. “We could have had such a good time, if only you would cooperate—such a pity.” “Never,” he said. Blood trickled down his lip, over his chin and onto his shirt where it mixed with older blood and food stains. Lavender went to the kitchen and returned with the casserole she had put in the oven before she had gone out that evening. Funny how much of an appetite she always had after one of those purple feather incidents, she thought. She began to ladle some of the hot dish on to Roy’s plate when she heard a commotion in the hall. Since no one belonged on the thirteenth floor she was immediately suspicious. Quietly, she slunk over to the door and peered out through the peephole. To think she had nearly had

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that removed. Why should she need it? she had thought. Since she was the only one on this floor, only those she invited had any reason to be on it. Now she was glad she had left well enough alone. Quickly, she moved to the bedroom and retrieved her purse. She pulled out the pea shooter. “Sorry Roy, I thought I would be able to keep you around a while longer, but obviously not. Your friends have come out to our little party all dressed in their Sunday blues.” Lavender pulled Roy’s chair away from the table and pushed it to the center of the living room, directly in front of the door. “When they burst through that door shooting, you’ll be the first to catch the hail of bullets. They so like to shoot first ask questions later. They like to be real ‘shoot ‘em up cowboys’, like in the movies. If you’re lucky it’ll be swift, you’ll never feel a thing. If they aren’t good shots, which I suspect they are not…” she whispered in his ear, leaving the ending to his imagination. Lavender’s diatribe was cut short as all hell seemed to break loose. The doors up and down floor thirteen came crashing in. The noise was like the third world war she imagined many times in her troubled sleep. She would be Tokyo Rose, Mata Hari and the Chief’s worst nightmare all rolled into one. The box of darts fell to the floor as one of the bullets grazed her hand. “Hold your fire! I said don’t shoot!” Chief Grueder screamed. The guilty officer dropped his weapon to his side and turned the deepest crimson Lavender had ever seen. “The darts,” he said in his own defense, pointing at the floor. Lavender looked for Roy. He should be dead. She envisioned a hailstorm of bullets; she should be lying dead beside him. What happened to all the shooting? Now she was angry. She held her dart gun to her mouth, her gaze searching frantically for Roy. Too many men…too many. They’re in the way. As she moved to put the dart gun aside, someone grabbed her from behind while someone else grabbed the dart gun from her. The dart fell from the end of the gun, rolling across the floor like an escaping spider. She struggled against the strong-armed men; she had to get the dart. They were too expensive to waste, didn’t they know that? “I need to get that dart. That’s Roy’s dart. Isn’t it sweetheart,” she said, looking toward the heap on the floor where Roy was pinned down by his rescuers. “That’s the one we painted your name on,” she cooed. Seeing Roy lying on the floor with two police officers protecting him with their own bodies made Lavender burst out laughing. What a comical sight. “Oh sweetie, those men will rob you of your pleasure. They’re stopping mama from giving you your fun, feel-good medicine. And now they’re taking your dart too. All is lost sweet prince—what shall we do?” “Silence,” Chief Grueder said.

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“No need to be so angry Chief. If you like, we can find some for you, too,” Lavender said. Her laughter echoed maniacally across the thirteenth floor like there were no walls to stop it. “Where’s Elinore?” Chief Grueder asked. “She isn’t home yet,” Lavender said, somber and stoical. “Chief…Chief Grueder,” one of the detectives called. “You’ll want to see this.” “You leave Elinore’s closet alone. She will have your hides if you touch her stuff,” Lavender said. She twisted, trying to free herself from the clutches of the men holding her. She watched as the officer showed Chief Grueder the closet. Lavender shook free of the men holding her. She flung her blonde wig to the floor and entered the closet. “Is there something I can assist you gentlemen with? Chief Grueder, isn’t it? The minute she stepped into the closet Lavender ceased to exist. Elinore Muich appeared in her starched black and white world persona. “Do you have a search warrant?” she demanded, hands on hips, completely in charge now. A detective silently handed Elinore the search warrant. Standing there in the closet with the Chief and the detectives, Elinore turned to the full length mirror. “It’s so confusing,” she said. “What is this woman doing here? Get out! Get out of my home!” she shouted at the image in the mirror that, in Elinore’s mind, suddenly took on unrecognizable characteristics. “Please, come with me,” Chief Grueder said, taking her arm. “Yes, please get her out of here,” Elinore said. Two officers took Lavender and put her in handcuffs while they read her the Miranda rights. A rescue squad crew came in and put Roy on a stretcher amidst protests that he was fine, that he didn’t need any white-suited aliens taking him on a ride. Chief Grueder directed them to take him to the police psychiatric ward at County General Hospital. “No visitors—absolutely none—until further notice,” he said. Forensics arrived as the Chief was having Lavender escorted to the squad car. He directed Dixie to take Lavender to booking. Two other homicide detectives still held Lavender and walked her out with Dixie at their helm. “Oh, but I thought you would accompany me, Chief. We have so much to talk about. As you can see, Roy has been a very busy beaver. You know he told me all about the people he murdered.” Lavender continued to tell all as Dixie and the two detectives accompanied her down, using a different elevator than the one in which the paramedics took Roy.

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What a shame, Lavender thought. She wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to Roy. Lavender waved at Heather and Langdon as she was being escorted to the unmarked police car. She saw Heather race to the stretcher the paramedics wheeled toward the rescue squad van. Roy was being such a good boy; he just let the paramedics wheel him along. He never even looked at Heather. They wouldn’t let her in the rescue van. Lavender laughed. What an exciting day. They needed to bust so many working girls every month; it must be her turn this week. She was sure she would be back on her street corner by tomorrow night. They never held her longer than overnight.

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Chapter Forty-Four

The silence broken only by the occasional squelch and dispatch office message to officers on patrol was all that interrupted Heather’s thoughts. The air smelled of musky male adrenaline to her over-sensitive nostrils. She tried to concentrate on Roy. Where he was, trying to see or feel if he was still alive, rescuable. It seemed the atmosphere was too thick, the air too humid, too dense for her thoughts to penetrate. Langdon reached across the seat and put his arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be okay. Chief Grueder knows how to handle these things.” Heather surrendered to his touch and put her head on his shoulder. The wait, the not knowing, knotted the area behind her navel into a Celtic knot. She never was good at waiting and this was excruciating. “He looked so…so…bedraggled. Do you remember seeing pictures of Karen Carpenter at the last? I mean, before she died?” Langdon nodded. “Men have more muscle fiber, they can bounce back from starvation or deprivation better than women,” he said. Where he came up with that explanation Heather could only imagine. Whether there was an iota of truth to it or not mattered little. It was his desire to ease her worry that slid into her mind and hung on. Maybe she misjudged him. Maybe his seeming arrogance was just a cover up, protecting a fragile ego. A shot echoed through the stillness and clawed at Heather’s heart. Roy… She prayed, Dear God, let him be okay. She wrenched away from Langdon, slid across the seat, and jumped out of the squad car before he could stop her. A uniformed officer grabbed her as she raced toward the building. He picked her up and pulled her kicking and screaming to the relative safety behind the squad car. Langdon cautiously eased himself out of the car and took several tentative steps, testing his leg, still tender but strong enough to hold him he slipped out of the car and took her from the uniform.

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“Heather, think! Rushing into that building will give the shooter another target or a hostage. You don’t know who or why the shot was fired. Stop and think!” he said. Heather, cautious of Langdon’s damaged ribs, acquiesced. “The waiting is impossible,” she said. They huddled together with the officer that brought her back to the car, watching for any movement. A rescue squad van pulled up. Paramedics got out and a pulled stretcher and medical bag from the rear of the rescue van. The police officer went over to assist. “Chief Grueder called for a transport to County General,” the paramedic said. The officer told them he was on the thirteenth floor and he held the door for them. They stopped at the door and spoke with the officer briefly. “Shouldn’t they be rushing upstairs? What about the gunfire? What if some one is hurt?” she asked. “It must not be life threatening,” Langdon said. “Or someone is already dead,” she said. “There’s no coroner’s vehicle,” Langdon said, looking around. He knew the coroner may just be detained in arriving. Heather could feel the dread building inside her again. If anything happened to Roy her mother would never forgive her. Question is could she ever forgive herself? It was she who introduced Roy to Elinore in the first place. Her mind argued over the relationship between Elinore and Lavender. If they were twins, they were as opposite as night and day. If they were one person with a split personality, that was even more unfathomable in her mind. The warmth of Langdon’s embrace penetrated her insides, helping to untangle the knots that were building there. Was it the situation or was she beginning to feel a real affinity for Langdon? Her thoughts were a jumbled mess she didn’t dare trust at the moment. As they watched for some sign from the complex of the suites, the paramedics pushed through the doors with a stretcher. Two uniformed officers accompanied them. Heather could see it was Roy. She twisted free from Langdon and raced toward the stretcher. The officer beside the stretcher caught her mid stride. “It’s my brother. Let me see my brother. Roy!” she called to him. His eyes were open, glazed, a half grin on his face. He didn’t respond to her words. Heather tried to push around or through the officer, but he held her back. uninjured,” the policeman said. “Where are they taking him?” she asked. “County General psychiatric ward,” the paramedic answered.

“He’s alive,

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“He’s not crazy… He’s not…” Langdon had managed to get to Heather’s side. The officer released her into his arms. “You’ll have to wait to see him at County General,” the officer said as he passed her to Langdon. Roy was in the ambulance and the paramedic shut the back door before Heather turned to see what was happening. “Drugs,” the officer said to Langdon, nodding toward the paramedics and the rescue squad van. Heather helped Langdon back to the squad car, feeling more than just his weight on her shoulders. More activity at the entrance to the lobby caught her attention. Handcuffed but not subdued, Lavender strutted between the two plain clothes police officers. Dixie walked over to Langdon. She made a swiping motion across her forehead with one hand. “This lady is some fruitcake,” she said. “What about Elinore Muich?” Heather asked. “Was she there too? Where is she? Is she involved?” Heather fired a battery of questions in the rhythm of machine gun urgency. Dixie placed her hands on her hips shaking her head. “Are you ready for this? In answer to all your questions, yes.” Heather saw Langdon’s quizzical expression that probably echoed her own. “You don’t mean another Sybil?” Langdon said. Dixie nodded. “Told you this one’s a fruit cake.” “Elinore and Lavender…they’re not twins, but the same person?” Heather questioned. She suspected that very thing, but she was having a hard time reconciling the two women as one and the same. “Their mannerisms, their body language, looks, even speech patterns, are totally opposite. Okay, the looks are similar.” Heather shook her head. “Lavender’s contacts even changed her eye color,” Dixie said. “Gotta go. Forensics will be busy for some time up there. You two need a lift? I can ask one of the officers to drive you home,” Dixie said. “Chief Grueder…” Langdon began. “He’ll be busy for a couple hours yet. You guys would be better off going home until he contacts you. I’m sure he’ll want a statement from you,” she said, pointing to Heather. “But there’s no rush.” She told one of the uniforms to drive Heather and Langdon home. He asked for an address. “Come to Sandy’s house, she’ll be at work still,” Heather said. “I’ll fix you breakfast and then we can call Sandy and my mother to let them know Roy is safe.”

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Langdon agreed and Heather helped him to the squad car. The trip to Sandy’s house was silent while they both seemed to be recounting the events and their thoughts for each other. Heather could only account for her own thoughts, but Langdon’s arm around her shoulder let her know that he could be thinking about them more than the recent events.

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Chapter Forty-Five

The smell of bacon cooking made Heather feel like her backbone was shaking hands with her belly button. She hadn’t realized how excruciatingly hungry she was. And with good reason; it had been nearly twenty-four hours since she ate last. “How do you like your eggs,” she asked Langdon. “On a plate with bacon and toast would be nice,” he said. Heather gave him a look he couldn’t mistake as anything but chagrin. “Any way you are comfortable fixing them would be just fine,” he said. She cracked two more eggs into the pan, the yolk breaking on one. “How does scrambled sound?” she asked. “Actually, eggs make very little sound; it’s the chicken. Now there’s some noise when they get to cackling.” Heather groaned and made a motion that she was going to throw the spatula at him. Joking was finally okay. She didn’t know exactly how Roy was, but she knew he was safely out of the maniacal Lavender…er…Elinore’s hands. That had to be a good thing. As soon as they finished breakfast she would get hold of Sandy and Mother. They would be glad to hear the news. That’s if her mother would even talk to her. Maybe she should have Langdon call her, instead. “I’ll call Chief Grueder later so he can okay us going up to see Roy,” Langdon said as she set his platter of eggs and bacon in front of him. Heather thought how weird it was that Langdon always seemed to be on the same wavelength she was. Was there something in this, like some soul mate that she was missing? “Why do you suppose they sent him to the psychiatric ward at County general?” Heather asked. “I imagine until they find out what he is on, what drug—hallucinatory or mind altering—how long and what dosage. He could be a danger to himself and society.” Heather hadn’t thought about the possibilities of long term effects drugs, like LSD or some others could have. She hoped Roy wasn’t permanently messed up by the craziness of his captor.

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By seven that evening they had clearance to go see Roy. Chief Grueder said he would need weaning off the drugs, and some intensive diet to regain his physical health. But, other than that, the prognosis was for a speedy and full recovery. He also re-instated Langdon by saying he expected to see him at his desk Monday morning, telling him he’d pull desk duty until he was fully recovered. The chief said they had more than just the purple feather murders to solve. They called Catherine and Sandy, offering to pick them up on their way to the hospital to see Roy. Catherine welcomed the opportunity, saying she never really blamed Heather for Roy’s trouble. It had been Heather’s sensitive outer shell, her guilt complex that made her think she did. Heather was glad to be back in her good graces and never bothered to argue the issue. If that was true, then who kicked her out of the house? She certainly didn’t kick herself out, but she let the issue die. Somehow it didn’t seem worth it now that Roy was safe. The doctor warned them on their way in that Roy may not recognize anyone. However, he recognized them all, negating the concern of the doctors and pleased Heather and the rest. He smiled and greeted them like nothing had happened since the last time they were together. “It’s good of you to come. I have no idea why they have me in here. I feel great.” Heather made some excuse about being under observation; to be sure nothing unexpected would turn up. They found out the drug Lavender had been pumping him full of was similar to Prozac and Readlyn combined, both a calming and feel-good effect rolled into one. An overdose would have produced a nearly vegetative state and eventually death. Sandy asked Heather about the strange little man who visited The Wizard’s Book Store she had thought was a cop looking for her. Heather explained she had called the number to confirm her suspicions that it was an old college friend who showed up every couple of years. He was a sometimes-Private Investigator who loved using fake IDs to challenge people in his ‘guess who I am now?’ games. His job as a design engineer on the NASA Space Shuttle design team was very intellectually challenging. Playing the prankster was his tension reliever. Because of the seriousness and the mind-boggling mathematical calculations of his day job, being a sometimes PI was part of his release. “Mystery solved,” Sandy said. “You two make an incredible team, even if half of you is nearly physically useless,” Roy teased, looking at Langdon and Heather standing across the room. “I’ve always thought so too,” Catherine chimed in.

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Langdon looked at Heather, slipped out of the chair and pushed the walking cast straight out in front of him as he got down on one knee. “Ma’am, I’d like to ask for your permission to ask for the hand of your very beautiful, very talented daughter,” he said to Catherine. She clapped her hands together and grinned. “Well, you ain’t no doctor, or even a lawyer, but I reckon she ain’t going to do much better around here. If she’ll have you, you have my blessings.” Catherine beamed from ear to ear as she reached out for Heather’s hand and placed it in Langdon’s. Heather felt her cheeks flush red-hot as Langdon turned to her. “Will you marry me?” he asked, turning her hand over and brushing his lips over the palm of her hand. Heather had been watching embarrassed, aghast at his suave cavalier mannerism. Even in a full body cast she was sure she’d be able to see and feel his sinewy, athletic, physique ripple and flex. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be another notch on Langdon’s bed post, but this was different. He had proposed to no one else but her. She opened her mouth to say something. All the faces in the room turned her way didn’t help her tongue-tied feeling. She stuttered “I-I-I…” “Any man with a cast over that much of his body—bandaged ribs and all—is risking his neck just getting down that far, let alone asking my spitfire sister to marry him. What do you say sis? You gonna let this catch get away? He may be the last crazy person left on the planet.” They all laughed as Heather got down on her knees at eye level to Langdon. “Yes,” she said simply before she kissed him. The room burst into applause.

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